THE  HONOR  OF 

THE  NAME 


For  more  than  a  minute  he  hung  suspended  over  the  abyss  into 
which  the  baron  had  just  fallen,  and  his  hands  clutched  at  the 
empty  air. 


Translated  from  the  French  of 

EMILE    GABORIAU 


Illustrated  by 
BAYARD  JONES 


Charles  Scribner's   Sons 
New  York  1900 


COPYRIGHT,  1880,  BY 
ESTES   &   LAURIAT 


COPYRIGHT,  1900,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

For  more  than  a  minute  he  hung  suspended  over  the  abyss 
into  which  the  baron  had  just  fallen,  and  his  hands 
clutched  at  the  empty  air Frontispiece 

Facing 
page 

"  The  proof,  Monsieur,  is  the  word  of  this  man,  who  of 
his  own  free  will  comes  to  return  to  you — to  give  you 
a  fortune." 44 

"  Let  Mademoiselle  de  Courtornieu  pass  without  hin- 
derance." 188 

He  recoiled  with  a  heart-broken  cry 490 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 


CHAPTER    I 

On  the  first  Sunday  in  the  month  of  August,  1815, 
at  ten  o'clock  precisely — as  on  every  Sunday  morning 
— the  sacristan  of  the  parish  church  at  Sairmeuse 
sounded  the  three  strokes  of  the  bell  which  warn  the 
faithful  that  the  priest  is  ascending  the  steps  of  the 
altar  to  celebrate  high  mass. 

The  church  was  already  more  than  half  full,  and 
from  every  side  little  groups  of  peasants  were  hurrying 
into  the  church-yard.  The  women  were  all  in  their 
bravest  attire,  with  cunning  little  fichus  crossed  upon 
their  breasts,  broad-striped,  brightly  colored  skirts, 
and  large  white  coifs. 

Being  as  economical  as  they  were  coquettish,  they 
came  barefooted,  bringing  their  shoes  in  their  hands, 
but  put  them  on  reverentially  before  entering  the  house 
of  God. 

But  few  of  the  men  entered  the  church.  They  re- 
mained outside  to  talk,  seating  themselves  in  the  porch, 
or  standing  about  the  yard,  in  the  shade  of  the  century- 
old  elms. 

For  such  was  the  custom  in  the  hamlet  of  Sairmeuse. 

The  two  hours  which  the  women  consecrated  to 
prayer  the  men  employed  in  discussing  the  news,  the 
success  or  the  failure  of  the  crops ;  and,  before  the  ser- 


2  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

vice  ended,  they  could  generally  be  found,  glass  in 
hand,  in  the  bar-room  of  the  village  inn. 

For  the  farmers  for  a  league  around,  the  Sunday 
mass  was  only  an  excuse  for  a  reunion,  a  sort  of  weekly 
bourse. 

All  the  cures  who  had  been  successively  stationed  at 
Sairmeuse  had  endeavored  to  put  an  end  to  this  scan- 
dalous ha'bit,  as  they  termed  it ;  but  all  their  efforts  had 
made  no  impression  upon  country  obstinacy. 

They  had  succeeded  in  gaining  only  one  concession. 
At  the  moment  of  the  elevation  of  the  Host,  voices 
were  hushed,  heads  uncovered,  and  a  few  even  bowed 
the  knee,  and  made  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

But  this  was  the  affair  of  an  instant  only,  and  conver- 
sation was  immediately  resumed  with  increased  vivac- 
ity. 

But  to-day  the  usual  animation  was  wanting. 

No  sounds  came  from  the  little  knots  of  men  gath- 
ered here  and  there,  not  an  oath,  not  a  laugh.  Be- 
tween buyers  and  sellers,  one  did  not  overhear  a  single 
one  of  those  interminable  discussions,  punctuated  with 
the  popular  oaths,  such  as :  "  By  my  faith  in  God !  " 
or  "  May  the  devil  burn  me !  " 

They  were  not  talking,  they  were  whispering  to- 
gether. A  gloomy  sadness  was  visible  upon  each  face  ; 
lips  were  placed  cautiously  at  the  listener's  ear ;  anxiety 
could  be  read  in  every  eye. 

One  scented  misfortune  in  the  very  air. 

Only  a  month  had  elapsed  since  Louis  XVIII.  had 
been,  for  the  second  time,  installed  in  the  Tuileries  by 
a  triumphant  coalition. 

The  earth  had  not  yet  had  time  to  swallow  the  sea  of 
blood  that  flowed  at  Waterloo ;  twelve  hundred  thou- 
sand foreign  soldiers  desecrated  the  soil  of  France ;  the 
Prussian  General  Muffling  was  Governor  of  Paris. 


And  the  peasantry  of  Sairmeuse  trembled  with  in- 
dignation and  fear. 

This  king,  brought  back  by  the  allies,  was  no  less  to 
be  dreaded  than  the  allies  themselves. 

To  them  this  great  name  of  Bourbon  signified  only 
a  terrible  burden  of  taxation  and  oppression. 

Above  all,  it  signified  ruin — for  there  was  scarcely 
one  among  them  who  had  not  purchased  some  morsel 
of  government  land ;  and  they  were  assured  now  that 
all  estates  were  to  be  returned  to  the  former  proprie- 
tors, who  had  emigrated  after  the  overthrow  of  the 
Bourbons. 

Hence,  it  was  with  a  feverish  curiosity  that  most  of 
them  clustered  around  a  young  man  who,  only  two 
days  before,  had  returned  from  the  army. 

With  tears  of  rage  in  his  eyes,  he  was  recounting  the 
shame  and  the  misery  of  the  invasion. 

He  told  of  the  pillage  at  Versailles,  the  exactions  at 
Orleans,  and  the  pitiless  requisitions  that  had  stripped 
the  people  of  everything. 

"  And  these  accursed  foreigners  to  whom  the  trai- 
tors have  delivered  us,  will  not  go  so  long  as  a  shilling 
or  a  bottle  of  wine  is  left  in  France !  "  he  exclaimed. 

As  he  said  this  he  shook  his  clinched  fist  menacingly 
at  a  white  flag  that  floated  from  the  tower. 

His  generous  anger  won  the  close  attention  of  his 
auditors,  and  they  were  still  listening  to  him  with  un- 
diminished  interest,  when  the  sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs 
resounded  upon  the  stones  of  the  only  street  in  Sair- 
meuse. 

A  shudder  traversed  the  crowd.  The  same  fear 
stopped  the  beating  of  every  heart. 

Who  could  say  that  this  rider  was  not  some  English 
or  Prussian  officer?  He  had  come,  perhaps,  to  an- 


4  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

nonnce  the  arrival  of  his  regiment,  and  imperiously 
demand  money,  clothing,  and  food  for  his  soldiers. 

But  the  suspense  was  not  of  long  duration. 

The  rider  proved  to  be  a  fellow-countryman,  clad  in 
a  torn  and  dirty  blue  linen  blouse.  He  was  urging  for- 
ward, with  repeated  blows,  a  little,  bony,  nervous  mare, 
covered  with  foam. 

"  Ah !  it  is  Father  Chupin,"  murmured  one  of  the 
peasants,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  The  same,"  observed  another.  "  He  seems  to  be 
in  a  terrible  hurry." 

"  The  old  rascal  has  probably  stolen  the  horse  he  is 
riding." 

This  last  remark  disclosed  the  reputation  Father 
Chupin  enjoyed  among  his  neighbors. 

He  was,  indeed,  one  of  those  thieves  who  are  the 
scourge  and  the  terror  of  the  rural  districts.  He  pre- 
tended to  be  a  day-laborer,  but  the  truth  was,  that  he 
held  all  work  in  holy  horror,  and  spent  all  his  time  in 
sleeping  and  idling  about  his  hovel.  Hence,  stealing 
was  the  only  means  of  support  for  himself,  his  wife, 
and  two  sons — terrible  youths,  who,  somehow,  had  es- 
caped the  conscription. 

They  consumed  nothing  that  was  not  stolen. 
Wheat,  wine,  fuel,  fruits — all  were  the  rightful  property 
of  others.  Hunting  and  fishing  at  all  seasons,  and 
with  forbidden  appliances,  furnished  them  with  ready 
money. 

Everyone  in  the  neighborhood  knew  this ;  and  yet 
when  Father  Chupin  was  pursued  and  captured,  as  he 
was  occasionally,  no  witness  could  be  found  to  testify 
against  him. 

"  He  is  a  hard  case,"  men  said ;  "  and  if  he  had  a 
grudge  against  anyone,  he  would  be  quite  capable  of 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  5 

lying  in  ambush  and  shooting  him  as  he  would  a  squir- 
rel." 

Meanwhile  the  rider  had  drawn  rein  at  the  inn  of  the 
Boeuf  Couronne. 

He  alighted  from  his  horse,  and,  crossing  the  square, 
approached  the  church. 

He  was  a  large  man,  about  fifty  years  of  age,  as 
gnarled  and  sinewy  as  the  stem  of  an  old  grape-vine. 
At  the  first  glance  one  would  not  have  taken  him  for  a 
scoundrel.  His  manner  was  humble,  and  even  gentle ; 
but  the  restlessness  of  his  eye  and  the  expression  of  his 
thin  lips  betrayed  diabolical  cunning  and  the  coolest 
calculation. 

At  any  other  time  this  despised  and  dreaded  indi- 
vidual would  have  been  avoided ;  but  curiosity  and 
anxiety  led  the  crowd  toward  him. 

"  Ah,  well,  Father  Chupin !  "  they  cried,  as  soon  as 
he  was  within  the  sound  of  their  voices ;  "  whence  do 
you  come  in  such  haste?" 

"  From  the  city." 

To  the  inhabitants  of  Sairmeuse  and  its  environs, 
"  the  city  "  meant  the  country  town  of  the  arrondisse- 
rticnt,  Montaignac,  a  charming  sub-prefecture  of  eight 
thousand  souls,  about  four  leagues  distant. 

"  And  was  it  at  Montaignac  that  you  bought  the 
horse  you  were  riding  just  now?" 

"  I  did  not  buy  it ;  it  was  loaned  to  me." 

This  was  such  a  strange  assertion  that  his  listeners 
could  not  repress  a  smile.  He  did  not  seem  to  notice 
it,  however. 

"  It  was  loaned  me,"  he  continued,  "  in  order  that 
I  might  bring  some  great  news  here  the  quicker." 

Fear  resumed  possession  of  the  peasantry. 

"  Is  the  enemy  in  the  city  ?  "  anxiously  inquired 
some  of  the  more  timid. 


6  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  Yes ;  but  not  the  enemy  you  refer  to.  This  is  the 
former  lord  of  the  manor,  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse." 

"  Ah !  they  said  he  was  dead." 

"  They  were  mistaken." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ?  " 

"  No,  7  have  not  seen  him,  but  someone  else  has 
seen  him  for  me,  and  has  spoken  to  him.  And  this 
someone  is  Monsieur  Laugeron,  the  proprietor  of  the 
Hotel  de  France  at  Montaignac.  I  was  passing  the 
house  this  morning,  when  he  called  me.  '  Here,  old 
man,'  he  said, '  do  you  wish  to  do  me  a  favor  ?  '  Nat- 
urally I  replied :  '  Yes.'  Whereupon  he  placed  a 
coin  in  my  hand  and  said :  '  Well !  go  and  tell  them 
to  saddle  a  horse  for  you,  then  gallop  to  Sairmeuse, 
and  tell  my  friend  Lacheneur  that  the  Due  de  Sair- 
meuse arrived  here  last  night  in  a  post-chaise,  with  his 
son,  Monsieur  Martial,  and  two  servants." 

Here,  in  the  midst  of  these  peasants,  who  were  lis- 
tening to  him  with  pale  cheeks  and  set  teeth,  Father 
Chupin  preserved  the  subdued  mien  appropriate  to  a 
messenger  of  misfortune. 

But  if  one  had  observed  him  carefully,  one  would 
have  detected  an  ironical  smile  upon  his  lips  and  a 
gleam  of  malicious  joy  in  his  eyes. 

He  was,  in  fact,  inwardly  jubilant.  At  that  moment 
he  had  his  revenge  for  all  the  slights  and  all  the  scorn 
he  had  been  forced  to  endure.  And  what  a  revenge! 

And  if  his  words  seemed  to  fall  slowly  and  reluctant- 
ly from  his  lips,  it  was  only  because  he  was  trying  to 
prolong  the  sufferings  of  his  auditors  as  much  as  possi- 
ble. 

But  a  robust  young  fellow,  with  an  intelligent  face, 
who,  perhaps,  read  Father  Chupin's  secret  heart, 
brusquely  interrupted  him : 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  7 

"  What  does  the  presence  of  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse 
at  Montaignac  matter  to  us  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Let 
him  remain  at  the  Hotel  de  France  as  long  as  he 
chooses ;  we  shall  not  go  in  search  of  him." 

"  No !  we  shall  not  go  in  search  of  him,"  echoed  the 
other  peasants,  approvingly. 

The  old  rogue  shook  his  head  with  affected  commis- 
eration. 

"  Monsieur  le  Due  will  not  put  you  to  that  trouble," 
he  replied ;  "  he  will  be  here  in  less  than  two  hours." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  know  it  through  Monsieur  Laugeron,  who,  when 
I  mounted  his  horse,  said  to  me  :  '  Above  all,  old  man, 
explain  to  my  friend  Lacheneur  that  the  duke  has 
ordered  horses  to  be  in  readiness  to  convey  him  to 
Sairmeuse  at  eleven  o'clock.' " 

With  a  common  movement,  all  the  peasants  who 
had  watches  consulted  them. 

"  And  what  does  he  want  here  ?  "  demanded  the 
same  young  farmer. 

"  Pardon !  he  did  not  tell  me,"  replied  Father  Chu- 
pin  ;  "  but  one  need  not  be  very  cunning  to  guess.  He 
comes  to  revisit  his  former  estates,  and  to  take  them 
from  those  who  have  purchased  them,  if  possible. 
From  you,  Rousselet,  he  will  claim  the  meadows  upon 
the  Oiselle,  which  always  yield  two  crops ;  from  you, 
Father  Gauchais,  the  ground  upon  which  the  Croix- 
Brulee  stands ;  from  you,  Chanlouineau,  the  vineyards 

on  the  Borderie " 

Chanlouineau  was  the  impetuous  young  man  who 
had  interrupted  Father  Chupin  twice  already. 

"  Claim  the  Borderie !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  even 
greater  violence  ;  "  let  him  try,  and  we  will  see.  It  was 
waste  land  when  my  father  bought  it — covered  with 


8  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

briers  ;  even  a  goat  could  not  have  found  pasture  there. 
We  have  cleared  it  of  stones,  we  have  scratched  up  the 
soil  with  our  very  nails,  we  have  watered  it  with  our 
sweat,  and  now  they  would  try  to  take  it  from  us !  Ah ! 
they  shall  have  my  last  drop  of  blood  first !  " 

"  I  do  not  say  but " 

"  But  what  ?  Is  it  any  fault  of  ours  that  the  nobles 
fled  to  foreign  lands  ?  We  have  not  stolen  their  lands, 
have  we  ?  The  government  offered  them  for  sale ;  we 
bought  them,  and  paid  for  them ;  they  are  lawfully 
ours." 

"  That  is  true ;  but  Monsieur  de  Sairmeuse  is  the 
great  friend  of  the  king." 

The  young  soldier,  whose  voice  had  aroused  the 
most  noble  sentiments  only  a  moment  before,  was  for- 
gotten. 

Invaded  France,  the  threatening  enemy,  were  alike 
forgotten.  The  all-powerful  instinct  of  avarice  was 
suddenly  aroused. 

"  In  my  opinion,"  resumed  Chanlouineau,  "  we 
should  do  well  to  consult  the  Baron  d'Escorval." 

"  Yes,  yes !  "  exclaimed  the  peasants ;  "  let  us  go  at 
once!" 

They  were  starting,  when  a  villager  who  sometimes 
read  the  papers,  checked  them  by  saying: 

"  Take  care  what  you  do.  Do  you  not  know  that 
since  the  return  of  the  Bourbons  Monsieur  d'Escorval 
is  of  no  account  whatever  ?  Fouche  has  him  upon  the 
proscription  list,  and  he  is  under  the  surveillance  of 
the  police." 

This  objection  dampened  the  enthusiasm. 

"  That  is  true,"  murmured  some  of  the  older  men ; 
"  a  visit  to  Monsieur  d'Escorval  would,  perhaps,  do  us 
more  harm  than  good.  And,  besides,  what  advice 
could  he  give  us  ?  " 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  9 

Chanlouineau  had  forgotten  all  prudence. 

"  What  of  that  ? "  he  exclaimed.  "  If  Monsieur 
d'Escorval  has  no  counsel  to  give  us  about  this  matter, 
he  can,  perhaps,  teach  us  how  to  resist  and  to  defend 
ourselves." 

For  some  moments  Father  Chupin  had  been  study- 
ing, with  an  impassive  countenance,  the  storm  of  anger 
he  had  aroused.  In  his  secret  heart  he  experienced 
the  satisfaction  of  the  incendiary  at  the  sight  of  the 
flames  he  has  kindled. 

Perhaps  he  already  had  a  presentiment  of  the  in- 
famous part  he  would  play  a  few  months  later. 

Satisfied  with  his  experiment,  he  assumed,  for  the 
time,  the  role  of  moderator. 

"  Wait  a  little.  Do  not  cry  before  you  are  hurt,"  he 
exclaimed,  in  an  ironical  tone.  "  Who  told  you  that 
the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  would  trouble  you?  How 
much  of  his  former  domain  do  you  all  own  between 
you?  Almost  nothing.  A  few  fields  and  meadows 
and  a  hill  on  the  Borderie.  All  these  together  did  not 
in  former  times  yield  him  an  income  of  five  thousand 
francs  a  year." 

"  Yet,  that  is  true,"  replied  Chanlouineau ;  "  and  if 
the  revenue  you  mention  is  quadrupled,  it  is  only  be- 
cause the  land  is  now  in  the  hands  of  forty  proprietors 
who  cultivate  it  themselves." 

"  Another  reason  why  the  duke  will  not  say  a  word ; 
he  will  not  wish  to  set  the  whole  district  in  commotion. 
In  my  opinion,  he  will  dispossess  only  one  of  the 
owners  of  his  former  estates,  and  that  is  our  worthy 
ex-mayor — Monsieur  Lacheneur,  in  short." 

Ah !  he  knew  only  too  well  the  egotism  of  his  com- 
patriots. He  knew  with  what  complacency  and  eager- 
ness they  would  accept  an  expiatory  victim  whose  sac- 
rifice should  be  their  salvation. 


io  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  That  is  a  fact,"  remarked  an  old  man  ;  "  Monsieur 
Lacheneur  owns  nearly  all  the  Sairmeuse  property." 

"  Say  all,  while  you  are  about  it,"  rejoined  Father 
Chupin.  "  Where  does  Monsieur  Lacheneur  live  ?  In 
that  beautiful  Chateau  de  Sairmeuse  whose  gable  we 
can  see  there  through  the  trees.  He  hunts  in  the 
forests  which  once  belonged  to  the  Dues  de  Sair- 
meuse ;  he  fishes  in  their  lakes ;  he  drives  the  horses 
which  once  belonged  to  them,  in  the  carriages  upon 
which  one  could  now  see  their  coat-of-arms,  if  it  had 
not  been  painted  out. 

"  Twenty  years  ago,  Lacheneur  was  a  poor  devil  like 
myself ;  now,  he  is  a  grand  gentleman  with  fifty  thou- 
sand livres  a  year.  He  wears  the  finest  broadcloth 
and  top-boots  like  the  Baron  d'Escorval.  He  no 
longer  works ;  he  makes  others  work ;  and  when  he 
passes,  everyone  must  bow  to  the  earth.  If  you  kill 
so  much  as  a  sparrow  upon  his  lands,  as  he  says,  he 
will  cast  you  into  prison.  Ah,  he  has  been  fortunate. 
The  emperor  made  him  mayor.  The  Bourbons  de- 
prived him  of  his  office ;  but  what  does  that  matter  to 
him?  He  is  still  the  real  master  here,  as  the  Sair- 
meuse were  in  other  days.  His  son  is  pursuing  his 
studies  in  Paris,  intending  to  become  a  notary.  As 
for  his  daughter,  Mademoiselle  Marie-Anne — 

"  Not  a  word  against  her !  "  exclaimed  Chanloui- 
neau  ;  "  if  she  were  mistress,  there  would  not  be  a  poor 
man  in  the  country ;  and  yet,  how  some  of  her  pension- 
ers abuse  her  bounty.  Ask  your  wife  if  this  is  not  so, 
Father  Chupin." 

Undoubtedly  the  impetuous  young  man  spoke  at 
the  peril  of  his  life. 

But  the  wicked  old  Chupin  swallowed  this  affront 
which  he  would  never  forget,  and  humbly  continued : 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  n 

"  I  do  not  say  that  Mademoiselle  Marie-Aline  is  not 
generous ;  but  after  all  her  charitable  work  she  has 
plenty  of  money  left  for  her  fine  dresses  and  her  fal- 
lals. I  think  that  Monsieur  Lacheneur  ought  to  be 
very  well  content,  even  after  he  has  restored  to  its 
former  owner  one-half  or  even  three-quarters  of  the 
property  he  has  acquired — no  one  can  tell  how.  He 
would  have  enough  left  then  to  grind  the  poor  under 
foot." 

After  his  appeal  to  selfishness,  Father  Chupin  ap- 
pealed to  envy.  There  could  be  no  doubt  of  his  suc- 
cess. 

But  he  had  not  time  to  pursue  his  advantage.  The 
services  were  over,  and  the  worshippers  were  leaving 
the  church. 

Soon  there  appeared  upon  the  porch  the  man  in 
question,  with  a  young  girl  of  dazzling  beauty  leaning 
upon  his  arm. 

Father  Chupin  walked  straight  toward  him,  and 
brusquely  delivered  his  message. 

M.  Lacheneur  staggered  beneath  the  blow.  He 
turned  first  so  red,  then  so  frightfully  pale,  that  those 
around  him  thought  he  was  about  to  fall. 

But  he  quickly  recovered  his  self-possession,  and 
without  a  word  to  the  messenger,  he  walked  rapidly 
away,  leading  his  daughter. 

Some  minutes  later  an  old  post-chaise,  drawn  by 
four  horses,  dashed  through  the  village  at  a  gallop,  and 
paused  before  the  house  of  the  village  cure. 

Then  one  might  have  witnessed  a  singular  spectacle. 

Father  Chupin  had  gathered  his  wife  and  his  chil- 
dren together,  and  the  four  surrounded  the  carriage, 
shouting,  with  all  the  power  of  their  lungs : 

"  Long  live  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse !  " 


12     THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 


CHAPTER  II 

A  gently  ascending  road,  more  than  two  miles  in 
length,  shaded  by  a  quadruple  row  of  venerable  elms, 
led  from  the  village  to  the  Chateau  de  Sairmeuse. 

Nothing  could  be  more  beautiful  than  this  avenue,  a 
fit  approach  to  a  palace ;  and  the  stranger  who  beheld 
it  could  understand  the  naively  vain  proverb  of  the 
country :  "  He  does  not  know  the  real  beauty  of 
France,  who  has  never  seen  Sairmeuse  nor  the  Oi- 
selle." 

The  Giselle  is  the  little  river  which  one  crosses  by 
means  of  a  wooden  bridge  on  leaving  the  village,  and 
whose  clear  and  rapid  waters  give  a  delicious  freshness 
to  the  valley. 

At  every  step,  as  one  ascends,,  the  view  changes.  It 
is  as  if  an  enchanting  panorama  were  being  slowly  un- 
rolled before  one. 

On  the  right  you  can  see  the  saw-mills  of  Fereol. 
On  the  left,  like  an  ocean  of  verdure,  the  forest  of  Dol- 
omien  trembles  in  the  breeze.  Those  imposing  ruins 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river  are  all  that  remain  of  the 
feudal  manor  of  the  house  of  Breulh.  That  red  brick 
mansion,  with  granite  trimmings,  half  concealed  by  a 
bend  in  the  river,  belongs  to  the  Baron  d'Escorval. 

And  if  the  day  is  clear,  one  can  easily  distinguish  the 
spires  of  Montaignac  in  the  distance. 

This  was  the  path  traversed  by  M.  Lacheneur  after 
Chupin  had  delivered  his  message. 

But  what  did  he  care  for  the  beauties  of  the  land- 
scape ! 

Upon  the  church  porch  he  had  received  his  death- 
wound  ;  and  now,  with  a  tottering  and  dragging  step, 


THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME  13 

he  dragged  himself  along  like  one  of  those  poor  sol- 
diers, mortally  wounded  upon  the  field  of  battle,  who 
go  back,  seeking  a  ditch  or  quiet  spot  where  they  can 
lie  down  and  die. 

He  seemed  to  have  lost  all  thought  of  his  surround- 
ings— all  consciousness  of  previous  events.  He  pur- 
sued his  way,  lost  in  his  reflections,  guided  only  by 
force  of  habit. 

Two  or  three  times  his  daughter,  Marie-Anne,  who 
was  walking  by  his  side,  addressed  him ;  but  an  "  Ah ! 
let  me  alone !  "  uttered  in  a  harsh  tone,  was  the  only 
response  she  could  draw  from  him. 

Evidently  he  had  received  a  terrible  blow ;  and  un- 
doubtedly, as  often  happens  under  such  circumstances, 
the  unfortunate  man  was  reviewing  all  the  different 
phases  of  his  life. 

At  twenty  Lacheneur  was  only  a  poor  ploughboy  in 
the  service  of  the  Sairmeuse  family. 

His  ambition  was  modest  then.  When  stretched 
beneath  a  tree  at  the  hour  of  noonday  rest,  his  dreams 
were  as  simple  as  those  of  an  infant. 

"  If  I  could  but  amass  a  hundred  pistoles,"  he 
thought,  "  I  would  ask  Father  Barrois  for  the  hand  of 
his  daughter  Martha ;  and  he  would  not  refuse  me." 

A  hundred  pistoles  !  A  thousand  francs ! — an  enor- 
mous sum  for  him  who,  in  two  years  of  toil  and  priva- 
tion had  only  laid  by  eleven  louis,  which  he  had  placed 
carefully  in  a  tiny  box  and  hidden  in  the  depths  of  his 
straw  mattress. 

Still  he  did  not  despair.  He  had  read  in  Martha's 
eyes  that  she  would  wait. 

And  Mile.  Armande  de  Sairmeuse,  a  rich  old  maid, 
was  his  god-mother;  and  he  thought,  if  he  attacked 
her  adroitly,  that  he  might,  perhaps,  interest  her  in 
his  love-affair. 


i4  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

Then  the  terrible  storm  of  the  revolution  burst  over 
France. 

With  the  fall  of  the  first  thunder-bolts,  the  Duke  of 
Sairmeuse  left  France  with  the  Count  d'Artois.  They 
took  refuge  in  foreign  lands  as  a  passer-by  seeks  shel- 
ter in  a  doorway  from  a  summer  shower,  saying  to 
himself:  "  This  will  not  last  long." 

The  storm  did  last,  however ;  and  the  following  year 
Mile.  Armande,  who  had  remained  at  Sairmeuse,  died. 

The  chateau  was  then  closed,  the  president  of  the 
district  took  possession  of  the  keys  in  the  name  of  the 
government,  and  the  servants  were  scattered. 

Lacheneur  took  up  his  residence  in  Montaignac. 

Young,  daring,  and  personally  attractive,  blessed 
with  an  energetic  face,  and  an  intelligence  far  above 
his  station,  it  was  not  long  before  he  became  well 
known  in  the  political  clubs. 

For  three  months  Lacheneur  was  the  tyrant  of  Mon- 
taignac. « 

But  this  metier  of  public  speaker  is  by  no  means 
lucrative,  so  the  surprise  throughout  the  district  was 
immense,  when  it  was  ascertained  that  the  former 
ploughboy  had  purchased  the  chateau,  and  almost  all 
the  land  belonging  to  his  old  master. 

It  is  true  that  the  nation  had  sold  this  princely  do- 
main for  scarcely  a  twentieth  part  of  its  real  value. 
The  appraisement  was  sixty-nine  thousand  francs.  It 
was  giving  the  property  away. 

And  yet,  it  was  necessary  to  have  this  amount,  and 
Lacheneur  possessed  it,  since  he  had  poured  it  in  a 
flood  of  beautiful  louis  d'or  into  the  hands  of  the  re- 
ceiver of  the  district. 

From  that  moment  his  popularity  waned.  The 
patriots  who  had  applauded  the  ploughboy,  cursed  the 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  15 

capitalist.  He  discreetly  left  them  to  recover  from 
their  rage  as  best  they  could,  and  returned  to  Sair- 
meuse.  There  everyone  bowed  low  before  Citoyen 
Lacheneur. 

Unlike  most  people,  he  did  not  forget  his  past  hopes 
at  the  moment  when  they  might  be  realized. 

He  married  Martha  Barrois,  and,  leaving  the  coun- 
try to  work  out  its  own  salvation  without  his  assist- 
ance, he  gave  his  time  and  attention  to  agriculture. 

Any  close  observer,  in  those  days,  would  have  felt 
certain  that  the  man  was  bewildered  by  the  sudden 
change  in  his  situation. 

His  manner  was  so  troubled  and  anxious  that  one, 
to  see  him,  would  have  supposed  him  a  servant  in  con- 
stant fear  of  being  detected  in  some  indiscretion. 

He  did  not  open  the  chateau,  but  installed  himself 
and  his  young  wife  in  the  cottage  formerly  occupied 
by  the  head  game-keeper,  near  the  entrance  of  the 
park. 

But,  little  by  little,  with  the  habit  of  possession,  came 
assurance. 

The  Consulate  had  succeeded  the  Directory,  the 
Empire  succeeded  the  Consulate,  Citoyen  Lacheneur 
became  M.  Lacheneur. 

Appointed  mayor  two  years  later,  he  left  the  cottage 
and  took  possession  of  the  chateau. 

The  former  ploughboy  slumbered  in  the  bed  of  the 
Dues  de  Sairmeuse ;  he  ate  from  the  massive  plate, 
graven  with  their  coat-of-arms ;  he  received  his  visitors 
in  the  magnificent  salon  in  which  the  Dues  de  Sair- 
meuse had  received  their  friends  in  years  gone  by. 

To  those  who  had  known  him  in  former  days,  M. 
Lacheneur  had  become  unrecognizable.  He  had 
adapted  himself  to  his  lofty  station.  Blushing  at  his 


16  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

own  ignorance,  he  had  found  the  courage — wonderful 
in  one  of  his  age — to  acquire  the  education  which  he 
lacked. 

Then,  all  his  undertakings  were  successful  to  such 
a  degree  that  his  good  fortune  had  become  proverbial. 
That  he  took  any  part  in  an  enterprise,  sufficed  to  make 
it  turn  out  well. 

His  wife  had  given  him  two  lovely  children,  a  son 
and  a  daughter. 

His  property,  managed  with  a  shrewdness  and  sa- 
gacity which  the  former  owners  had  not  possessed, 
yielded  him  an  income  of  at  least  sixty  thousand 
francs. 

How  many,  under  similar  circumstances,  would 
have  lost  their  heads!  But  he,  M.  Lacheneur,  had 
been  wise  enough  to  retain  his  sang-froid. 

In  spite  of  the  princely  luxury  that  surrounded  him, 
his  own  habits  were  simple  and  frugal.  He  had  never 
had  an  attendant  for  his  own  person.  His  large  in- 
come he  consecrated  almost  entirely  to  the  improve- 
ment of  his  estate  or  to  the  purchase  of  more  land. 
And  yet,  he  was  not  avaricious.  In  all  that  concerned 
his  wife  or  children,  he  did  not  count  the  cost.  His 
son,  Jean,  had  been  educated  in  Paris ;  he  wished  him 
to  be  fitted  for  any  position.  Unwilling  to  consent  to 
a  separation  from  his  daughter,  he  had  procured  a  gov- 
erness to  take  charge  of  her  education. 

Sometimes  his  friends  accused  him  of  an  inordinate 
ambition  for  his  children ;  but  he  always  shook  his 
head  sadly,  as  he  replied : 

"  If  I  can  only  insure  them  a  modest  and  comfort- 
able future!  But  what  folly  it  is  to  count  upon  the 
future.  Thirty  years  ago,  who  could  have  foreseen 
that  the  Sairmeuse  family  would  be  deprived  of  their 
estates  ?  " 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  17 

With  such  opinions  he  should  have  been  a  good 
master ;  he  was,  but  no  one  thought  the  better  of  him 
on  that  account.  His  former  comrades  could  not  for- 
give him  for  his  sudden  elevation. 

They  seldom  spoke  of  him  without  wishing  his  ruin 
in  ambiguous  words. 

Alas !  the  evil  days  came.  Toward  the  close  of  the 
year  1812,  he  lost  his  wife;  the  disasters  of  the  year 
1813  swept  away  a  large  portion  of  his  personal  fort- 
une, which  had  been  invested  in  a  manufacturing  en- 
terprise. Compromised  by  the  first  Restoration,  he 
was  obliged  to  conceal  himself  for  a  time ;  and  to  cap 
the  climax,  the  conduct  of  his  son,  who  was  still  in 
Paris,  caused  him  serious  disquietude. 

Only  the  evening  before,  he  had  thought  himself  the 
most  unfortunate  of  men. 

But  here  was  another  misfortune  menacing  him ;  a 
misfortune  so  terrible  that  all  the  others  were  forgot- 
ten. 

From  the  day  on  which  he  had  purchased  Sair- 
meuse  to  this  fatal  Sunday  in  August,  1815,  was  an  in- 
terval of  twenty  years. 

Twenty  years!  And  it  seemed  to  him  only  yester- 
day that,  blushing  and  trembling,  he  had  laid  those 
piles  of  louis  d'or  upon  the  desk  of  the  receiver  of  the 
district. 

Had  he  dreamed  it? 

He  had  not  dreamed  it.  His  entire  life,  with  its 
struggles  and  its  miseries,  its  hopes  and  its  fears,  its 
unexpected  joys  and  its  blighted  hopes,  all  passed  be- 
fore him. 

Lost  in  these  memories,  he  had  quite  forgotten  the 
present  situation,  when  a  commonplace  incident,  more 
powerful  than  the  voice  of  his  daughter,  brought  him 
back  to  the  terrible  reality. 


i8  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

The  gate  leading  to  the  Chateau  de  Sairmeuse,  to 
his  chateau,  was  found  to  be  locked. 

He  shook  it  with  a  sort  of  rage ;  and,  being  unable 
to  break  the  fastening,  he  found  some  relief  in  break- 
ing the  bell. 

On  hearing  the  noise,  the  gardener  came  running 
to  the  scene  of  action. 

"Why  is  this  gate  closed?"  demanded  M.  Lache- 
neur,  with  unwonted  violence  of  manner.  "  By  what 
right  do  you  barricade  my  house  when  I,  the  master, 
am  without?  " 

The  gardener  tried  to  make  some  excuse. 

"Hold  your  tongue!"  interrupted  M.  Lacheneur. 
"  I  dismiss  you ;  you  are  no  longer  in  my  service." 

He  passed  on,  leaving  the  gardener  petrified  with 
astonishment,  crossed  the  court-yard — a  court-yard 
worthy  of  the  mansion,  bordered  with  velvet  turf,  with 
flowers,  and  with  dense  shrubbery. 

In  the  vestibule,  inlaid  with  marble,  three  of  his 
tenants  sat  awaiting  him,  for  it  was  on  Sunday  that  he 
always  received  the  workmen  who  desired  to  confer 
with  him. 

They  rose  at  his  approach,  and  removed  their  hats 
deferentially.  But  he  did  not  give  them  time  to  utter 
a  word. 

"  Who  permitted  you  to  enter  here  ?  "  he  said,  sav- 
agely, "  and  what  do  you  desire  ?  They  sent  you  to 
play  the  spy  on  me,  did  they  ?  Leave,  I  tell  you  !  " 

The  three  farmers  were  even  more  bewildered  and 
dismayed  than  the  gardener  had  been,  and  their  re- 
marks must  have  been  interesting. 

But  M.  Lacheneur  could  not  hear  them.  He  had 
opened  the  door  of  the  grand  salon,  and  dashed  in, 
followed  by  his  frightened  daughter. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  19 

Never  had  Marie-Anne  seen  her  father  in  such  a 
mood ;  and  she  trembled,  her  heart  torn  by  the  most 
frightful  presentiments. 

She  had  heard  it  said  that  oftentimes,  under  the  in- 
fluence of  some  dire  calamity,  unfortunate  men  have 
suddenly  lost  their  reason  entirely ;  and  she  was  won- 
dering if  her  father  had  become  insane. 

It  would  seem,  indeed,  that  such  was  the  case.  His 
eyes  flashed,  convulsive  shudders  shook  his  whole 
body,  a  white  foam  gathered  on  his  lips. 

He  made  the  circuit  of  the  room  as  a  wild  beast 
makes  the  circuit  of  his  cage,  uttering  harsh  impreca- 
tions and  making  frenzied  gestures. 

His  actions  were  strange,  incomprehensible.  Some- 
times he  seemed  to  be  trying  the  thickness  of  the  car- 
pet with  the  toe  of  his  boot ;  sometimes  he  threw  him- 
self upon  a  sofa  or  a  chair,  as  if  to  test  its  softness. 

Occasionally,  he  paused  abruptly  before  some  one 
of  the  valuable  pictures  that  covered  the  walls,  or  be- 
fore a  bronze.  One  might  have  supposed  that  he  was 
taking  an  inventory,  and  appraising  all  the  magnificent 
and  costly  articles  which  decorated  this  apartment,  the 
most  sumptuous  in  the  chateau. 

"  And  I  must  renounce  all  this !  "  he  exclaimed,  at 
last. 

These  words  explained  everything. 

"  No,  never !  "  he  resumed,  in  a  transport  of  rage ; 
"  never !  never !  I  cannot !  I  will  not !  " 

Now  Marie-Anne  understood  it  all.  But  what  was 
passing  in  her  father's  mind?  She  wished  to  know; 
and,  leaving  the  low  chair  in  which  she  had  been 
seated,  she  went  to  her  father's  side. 

"  Are  you  ill,  father?  "  she  asked,  in  her  sweet  voice  ; 
"  what  is  the  matter  ?  What  do  you  fear  ?  Why  do 


20  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

you  not  confide  in  me?  Am  I  not  your  daughter? 
Do  you  no  longer  love  me  ?  " 

At  the  sound  of  this  dear  voice,  M.  Lacheneur  trem- 
bled like  a  sleeper  suddenly  aroused  from  the  terrors 
of  a  nightmare,  and  he  cast  an  indescribable  glance 
upon  his  daughter. 

"  Did  you  not  hear  what  Chupin  said  to  me  ?  "  he 
replied,  slowly.  "  The  Due  de  Sairmeuse  is  at  Mon- 
taignac ;  he  will  soon  be  here ;  and  we  are  dwelling  in 
the  chateau  of  his  fathers,  and  his  domain  has  become 
ours !  " 

The  vexed  question  regarding  the  national  lands, 
which  agitated  France  for  thirty  years,  Marie  under- 
stood, for  she  had  heard  it  discussed  a  thousand  times. 

"  Ah,  well,  dear  father,"  said  she,  "  what  does  that 
matter,  even  if  we  do  hold  the  property?  You  have 
bought  it  and  paid  for  it,  have  you  not  ?  So  it  is  right- 
fully and  lawfully  ours." 

M.  Lacheneur  hesitated  a  moment  before  replying. 

But  his  secret  suffocated  him.  He  was  in  one  of 
those  crises  in  which  a  man,  however  strong  he  may 
be,  totters  and  seeks  some  support,  however  fragile. 

"  You  would  be  right,  my  daughter,"  he  murmured, 
with  drooping  head,  "  if  the  money  that  I  gave  in  ex- 
change for  Sairmeuse  had  really  belonged  to  me." 

At  this  strange  avowal  the  young  girl  turned  pale 
and  recoiled  a  step. 

"What?"  she  faltered;  "this  gold  was  not  yours, 
my  father?  To  whom  did  it  belong?  From  whence 
did  it  come?  " 

The  unhappy  man  had  gone  too  far  to  retract. 

"  I  will  tell  you  all,  my  daughter,"  he  replied,  "  and 
you  shall  judge.  You  shall  decide.  When  the  Sair- 
meuse family  fled  from  France,  I  had  only  my  hands  to 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  21 

depend  upon,  and  as  it  was  almost  impossible  to  obtain 
work,  I  wondered  if  starvation  were  not  near  at  hand. 

"  Such  was  my  condition  when  someone  came  after 
me  one  evening  to  tell  me  that  Mademoiselle  Armande 
de  Sairmeuse,  my  godmother,  was  dying,  and  wished 
to  speak  with  me.  I  ran  to  the  chateau. 

"  The  messenger  had  told  the  truth.  Mademoiselle 
Armande  was  sick  unto  death.  I  felt  this  on  seeing 
her  upon  her  bed,  whiter  than  wax. 

"  Ah !  if  I  were  to  live  a  hundred  years,  never  should 
I  forget  her  face  as  it  looked  at  that  moment.  It  was 
expressive  of  a  strength  of  will  and  an  energy  that 
would  hold  death  at  bay  until  the  task  upon  which  she 
had  determined  was  performed. 

"  When  I  entered  the  room  I  saw  a  look  of  relief  ap- 
pear upon  her  countenance. 

'  How  long  you  were  in  coming ! '  she  murmured 
faintly. 

"  I  was  about  to  make  some  excuse,  when  she  mo- 
tioned me  to  pause,  and  ordered  the  women  who  sur- 
rounded her  to  leave  the  room. 

"  As  soon  as  we  were  alone : 

'  You  are  an  honest  boy/  said  she, '  and  I  am  about 
to  give  you  a  proof  of  my  confidence.  People  believe 
me  to  be  poor,  but  they  are  mistaken.  While  my  rela- 
tives were  gayly  ruining  themselves,  I  was  saving  the 
five  hundred  louis  which  the  duke,  my  brother,  gave 
me  each  year.' 

"  She  motioned  me  to  come  nearer,  and  to  kneel  be- 
side her  bed. 

"  I  obeyed,  and  Mademoiselle  Armande  leaned 
toward  me,  almost  glued  her  lips  to  my  ear,  and  added : 

"  '  I  possess  eighty  thousand  francs.' 

"  I  felt  a  sudden  giddiness,  but  my  godmother  did 
not  notice  it. 


22  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

" '  This  amount,'  she  continued,  '  is  not  a  quarter 
part  of  the  former  income  from  our  family  estates. 
But  now,  who  knows  but  it  will,  one  day,  be  the  only 
resource  of  the  Sairmeuse  ?  I  am  going  to  place  it  in 
your  charge,  Lacheneur.  I  confide  it  to  your  honor 
and  to  your  devotion.  The  estates  belonging  to  the 
emigrants  are  to  be  sold,  I  hear.  If  such  an  act  of  in- 
justice is  committed,  you  will  probably  be  able  to  pur- 
chase our  property  for  seventy  thousand  francs.  If 
the  property  is  sold  by  the  government,  purchase  it; 
if  the  lands  belonging  to  the  emigrants  are  not  sold, 
take  that  amount  to  the  duke,  my  brother,  who  is 
with  the  Count  d'Artois.  The  surplus,  that  is  to  say, 
the  ten  thousand  francs  remaining,  I  give  to  you — 
they  are  yours.' 

"  She  seemed  to  recover  her  strength.  She  raised 
herself  in  bed,  and,  holding  the  crucifix  attached  to  her 
rosary  to  my  lips,  she  said : 

"  '  Swear  by  the  image  of  our  Saviour,  that  you  will 
faithfully  execute  the  last  will  of  your  dying  god- 
mother.' 

"  I  took  the  required  oath,  and  an  expression  of  sat- 
isfaction overspread  her  features. 

'  That  is  well,'  she  said ;  '  I  shall  die  content.  You 
will  have  a  protector  on  high.  But  this  is  nof  all.  In 
times  like  these  in  which  we  live,  this  gold  will  not  be 
safe  in  your  hands  unless  those  about  you  are  ignorant 
that  you  possess  it.  I  have  been  endeavoring  to  dis- 
cover some  way  by  which  you  could  remove  it  from 
my  room,  and  from  the  chateau,  without  the  knowl- 
edge of  anyone  ;  and  I  have  found  a  way.  The  gold  is 
here  in  this  cupboard,  at  the  head  of  my  bed,  in  a  stout 
oaken  chest.  You  must  find  strength  to  move  the 
chest — you  must.  You  can  fasten  a  sheet  around  it, 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  23 

and  let  it  down  gently  from  the  window  into  the  gar- 
den. You  will  then  leave  the  house  as  you  entered  it, 
and  as  soon  as  you  are  outside,  you  must  take  the  chest 
and  carry  it  to  your  home.  The  night  is  very  dark, 
and  no  one  will  see  you,  if  you  are  careful.  But  make 
haste ;  my  strength  is  nearly  gone.' 

"  The  chest  was  heavy,  but  I  was  very  strong. 

"  In  less  than  ten  minutes  the  task  of  removing  the 
chest  from  the  chateau  was  accomplished,  without  a 
single  sound  that  would  betray  us.  As  I  closed  the 
window,  I  said : 

"  '  It  is  done,  godmother.' 

"  '  God  be  praised ! '  she  whispered ;  '  Sairmeuse  is 
saved ! ' 

"  I  heard  a  deep  sigh.     I  turned ;  she  was  dead." 

This  scene  that  M.  Lacheneur  was  relating  rose 
vividly  before  him. 

To  feign,  to  disguise  the  truth,  or  to  conceal  any 
portion  of  it  was  an  impossibility. 

He  forgot  himself  and  his  daughter ;  he  thought  only 
of  the  dead  woman,  of  Mile.  Armande  de  Sairmeuse. 

And  he  shuddered  on  pronouncing  the  words: 
"  She  was  dead."  It  seemed  to  him  that  she  was  about 
to  speak,  and  to  insist  upon  the  fulfilment  of  his  pledge. 

After  a  moment's  silence,  he  resumed,  in  a  hollow 
voice : 

"  I  called  for  aid ;  it  came.  Mademoiselle  Armande 
was  adored  by  everyone ;  there  was  great  lamentation, 
and  a  half  hour  of  indescribable  confusion  followed  her 
death.  I  was  able  to  withdraw,  unnoticed,  to  run  into 
the  garden,  and  to  carry  away  the  oaken  chest.  An 
hour  later,  it  was  concealed  in  the  miserable  hovel  in 
which  I  dwelt.  The  following  year  I  purchased  Sair- 
meuse." 


24  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

He  had  confessed  all ;  and  he  paused,  trembling,  try- 
ing to  read  his  sentence  in  the  eyes  of  his  daughter. 

"  And  can  you  hesitate  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Ah !  you  do  not  know " 

"  I  know  that  Sairmeuse  must  be  given  up." 

This  was  the  decree  of  his  own  conscience,  that  faint 
voice  which  speaks  only  in  a  whisper,  but  which  all  the 
tumult  on  earth  cannot  overpower. 

"  No  one  saw  me  take  away  the  chest,"  he  faltered. 
"  If  anyone  suspected  it,  there  is  not  a  single  proof 
against  me.  But  no  one  does  suspect  it." 

Marie- Anne  rose,  her  eyes  flashed  with  generous  in- 
dignation. 

"  My  father !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  oh !  my  father !  " 

Then,  in  a  calmer  tone,  she  added : 

"  If  others  know  nothing  of  this,  can  you  forget  it  ?" 

M.  Lacheneur  appeared  almost  ready  to  succumb 
to  the  torture  of  the  terrible  conflict  raging  in  his  soul. 

"  Return !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  What  shall  I  return  ? 
That  which  I  have  received  ?  So  be  it.  I  consent.  I 
will  give  the  duke  the  eighty  thousand  francs ;  to  this 
amount  I  will  add  the  interest  on  this  sum  since  I  have 
had  it,  and — we  shall  be  free  of  all  obligation." 

The  girl  sadly  shook  her  head. 

"  Why  do  you  resort  to  subterfuges  which  are  so 
unworthy  of  you  ?  "  she  asked,  gently.  "  You  know 
perfectly  well  that  it  was  Sairmeuse  which  Mademoi- 
selle Armande  intended  to  intrust  to  the  servant  of  her 
house.  And  it  is  Sairmeuse  which  must  be  returned." 

The  word  "  servant  "  was  revolting  to  a  man,  who, 
at  least,  while  the  empire  endured,  had  been  a  power 
in  the  land. 

"  Ah !  you  are  cruel,  my  daughter,"  he  said,  with  in- 
tense bitterness ;  "  as  cruel  as  a  child  who  has  never 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  25 

suffered — as  cruel  as  one  who,  having  never  himself 
been  tempted,  is  without  mercy  for  those  who  have 
yielded  to  temptation. 

"  It  is  one  of  those  acts  which  God  alone  can  judge, 
since  God  alone  can  read  the  depths  of  one's  secret 
soul. 

"  I  am  only  a  depositary,  you  tell  me.  It  was,  in- 
deed, in  this  light  that  I  formerly  regarded  myself. 

"  If  your  poor  sainted  mother  was  still  alive,  she 
would  tell  you  the  anxiety  and  anguish  I  felt  on  being 
made  the  master  of  riches  which  were  not  mine.  I 
trembled  lest  I  should  yield  to  their  seductions ;  I  was 
afraid  of  myself.  I  felt  as  a  gambler  might  feel  who 
had  the  winnings  of  others  confided  to  his  care ;  as  a 
drunkard  might  feel  who  had  been  placed  in  charge  of 
a  quantity  of  the  most  delicious  wines. 

"  Your  mother  would  tell  you  that  I  moved  heaven 
and  earth  to  find  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse.  But  he  had 
left  the  Count  d'Artois,  and  no  one  knew  where  he  had 
gone  or  what  had  become  of  him.  Ten  years  passed 
before  I  could  make  up  my  mind  to  inhabit  the  chateau 
—yes,  ten  years — during  which  I  had  the  furniture 
dusted  each  morning  as  if  the  master  was  to  return  that 
evening. 

"  At  last  I  ventured.  I  had  heard  Monsieur  d'Es- 
corval  declare  that  the  duke  had  been  killed  in  battle. 
I  took  up  my  abode  here.  And  from  day  to  day,  in 
proportion  as  the  domain  of  Sairmeuse  became  more 
beautiful  and  extensive  beneath  my  care,  I  felt  myself 
more  and  more  its  rightful  owner." 

But  this  despairing  pleading  in  behalf  of  a  bad  cause 
produced  no  impression  upon  Marie-Anne's  loyal 
heart. 

"  Restitution  must  be  made,"  she  repeated. 


26  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

M.  Lacheneur  wrung  his  hands. 

"  Implacable !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  she  is  implacable. 
Unfortunate  girl !  does  she  not  understand  that  it  is  for 
her  sake  I  wish  to  remain  where  I  am  ?  I  am  old,  and 
I  am  familiar  with  toil  and  poverty ;  idleness  has  not 
removed  the  callosities  from  my  hands.  What  do  I 
require  to  keep  me  alive  until  the  day  comes  for  me 
to  take  my  place  in  the  graveyard?  A  crust  of  bread 
and  an  onion  in  the  morning,  a  porringer  of  soup  in 
the  evening,  and  for  the  night  a  bundle  of  straw.  I 
could  easily  earn  that.  But  you,  unhappy  child!  and 
your  brother,  what  will  become  of  you  ?  " 

"  We  must  not  discuss  nor  haggle  with  duty,  my 
father.  I  think,  however,  that  you  are  needlessly 
alarmed.  I  believe  the  duke  is  too  noble-hearted  ever 
to  allow  you  to  suffer  want  after  the  immense  service 
you  have  rendered  him." 

The  old  servitor  of  the  house  of  Sairmeuse  laughed 
a  loud,  bitter  laugh. 

"  You  believe  that !  "  said  he ;  "  then  you  do  not 
know  the  nobles  who  have  been  our  masters  for  ages. 
'  A.,  you  are  a  worthy  fellow ! ' — -very  coldly  said — will 
be  the  only  recompense  I  shall  receive ;  and  you  will 
see  us,  me,  at  my  plough ;  you,  out  at  service.  And 
if  I  venture  to  speak  of  the  ten  thousand  francs  that 
were  given  me,  I  shall  be  treated  as  an  impostor,  as  an 
impudent  fool.  By  the  holy  name  of  God  this  shall 
not  be !  " 

"Oh,  my  father!" 

"  No !  this  shall  not  be.  And  I  realize — as  you  can- 
not realize — the  disgrace  of  such  a  fall.  You  think 
you  are  beloved  in  Sairmeuse?  You  are  mistaken. 
We  have  been  too  fortunate  not  to  be  the  victims  of 
hatred  and  jealousy.  If  I  fall  to-morrow,  you  will  see 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  27 

all  who  kissed  your  hands  to-day  fall  upon  you  to  tear 
you  to  pieces !  " 

His  eye  glittered ;  he  believed  he  had  found  a  vic- 
torious argument. 

"  And  then  you,  yourself,  will  realize  the  horror  of 
the  disgrace.  It  will  cost  you  the  deadly  anguish  of 
a  separation  from  him  whom  your  heart  has  chosen." 

He  had  spoken  truly,  for  Marie-Anne's  beautiful 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  If  what  you  say  proves  true,  father,"  she  mur- 
mured, in  an  altered  voice,  "  I  may,  perhaps,  die  of 
sorrow ;  but  I  cannot  fail  to  realize  that  my  confidence 
and  my  love  has  been  misplaced." 

"  And  you  still  insist  upon  my  returning  Sairmeuse 
to  its  former  owner?  " 

"  Honor  speaks,  my  father." 

M.  Lacheneur  made  the  arm-chair  in  which  he  was 
seated  tremble  by  a  violent  blow  of  his  fist. 

"  And  if  7  am  just  as  obstinate,"  he  exclaimed — "  if 
I  keep  the  property — what  will  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  shall  say  to  myself,  father,  that  honest  poverty  is 
better  than  stolen  wealth.  I  shall  leave  this  chateau, 
which  belongs  to  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse,  and  I  shall 
seek  a  situation  as  a  servant  in  the  neighborhood." 

M.  Lacheneur  sank  back  in  his  arm-chair  sobbing. 
He  knew  his  daughter's  nature  well  enough  to  be  as- 
sured that  what  she  said,  that  she  would  do. 

But  he  was  conquered;  his  daughter  had  won  the 
battle.  He  had  decided  to  make  the  heroic  sacrifice. 

"  I  will  relinquish  Sairmeuse,"  he  faltered,  "  come 
what  may " 

He  paused  suddenly ;  a  visitor  was  entering  the 
room. 

It  was  a  young  man  about  twenty  years  of  age,  of 


28  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

distinguished  appearance,  but  with  a  rather  melan- 
choly and  gentle  manner. 

His  eyes  when  he  entered  the  apartment  encoun- 
tered those  of  Marie-Anne;  he  blushed  slightly,  and 
the  girl  half  turned  away,  crimsoning  to  the  roots  of 
her  hair. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  young  man,  "  my  father  sends 
me  to  inform  you  that  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  and  his 
son  have  just  arrived.  They  have  asked  the  hospital- 
ity of  our  cure." 

M.  Lacheneur  rose,  unable  to  conceal  his  frightful 
agitation. 

"  You  will  thank  the  Baron  d'Escorval  for  his  atten- 
tion, my  dear  Maurice,"  he  responded.  "  I  shall  have 
the  honor  of  seeing  him  to-day,  after  a  very  momen- 
tous step  which  we  are  about  to  take,  my  daughter 
and  I." 

Young  D'Escorval  had  seen,  at  the  first  glance,  that 
his  presence  was  inopportune,  so  he  remained  only  a 
few  moments. 

But  as  he  was  taking  leave,  Marie-Anne  found  time 
to  say,  in  a  low  voice : 

"  I  think  I  know  your  heart,  Maurice ;  this  evening 
I  shall  know  it  certainly." 


CHAPTER   III 

Few  of  the  inhabitants  of  Sairmeuse  knew,  except 
by  name,  the  terrible  duke  whose  arrival  had  thrown 
the  whole  village  into  commotion. 

Some  of  the  oldest  residents  had  a  faint  recollection 
of  having  seen  him  long  ago,  before  '89  indeed,  when 
he  came  to  visit  his  aunt,  Mile.  Armande. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  29 

His  duties,  then,  had  seldom  permitted  him  to  leave 
the  court. 

If  he  had  given  no  sign  of  life  during  the  empire,  it 
was  because  he  had  not  been  compelled  to  submit  to 
the  humiliations  and  suffering  which  so  many  of  the 
emigrants  were  obliged  to  endure  in  their  exile. 

On  the  contrary,  he  had  received,  in  exchange  for 
the  wealth  of  which  he  had  been  deprived  by  the  revo- 
lution, a  princely  fortune. 

Taking  refuge  in  London  after  the  defeat  of  the 
army  of  Conde,  he  had  been  so  fortunate  as  to  please 
the  only  daughter  of  Lord  Holland,  one  of  the  richest 
peers  in  England,  and  he  had  married  her. 

She  possessed,  a  fortune  of  two  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  pounds  sterling,  more  than  six  million  francs. 

Still  the  marriage  was  not  a  happy  one.  The  chosen 
companion  of  the  dissipated  and  licentious  Count 
d'Artois  was  not  likely  to  prove  a  very  good  husband. 

The  young  duchess  was  contemplating  a  separation 
when  she  died,  in  giving  birth  to  a  boy,  who  was  bap- 
tized under  the  names  of  Anne-Marie-Martial. 

The  loss  of  his  wife  did  not  render  the  Due  de  Sair- 
meuse  inconsolable. 

He  was  free  and  richer  than  he  had  ever  been. 

As  soon  as  les  convenances  permitted,  he  confided  his 
son  to  the  care  of  a  relative  of  his  wife,  and  began  his 
roving  life  again. 

Rumor  had  told  the  truth.  He  had  fought,  and  that 
furiously,  against  France  in  the  Austrian,  and  then  in 
the  Russian  ranks. 

And  he  took  no  pains  to  conceal  the  fact ;  convinced 
that  he  had  only  performed  his  duty.  He  considered 
that  he  had  honestly  and  loyally  gained  the  rank  of 
general  which  the  Emperor  of  all  the  Russias  had  be- 
stowed upon  him. 


3o  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

He  had  not  returned  to  France  during  the  first  Res- 
toration ;  but  his  absence  had  been  involuntary.  His 
father-in-law,  Lord  Holland,  had  just  died,  and  the 
duke  was  detained  in  London  by  business  connected 
with  his  son's  immense  inheritance. 

Then  followed  the  "  Hundred  Days."  They  exas- 
perated him. 

But  "  the  good  cause,"  as  he  styled  it,  having  tri- 
umphed anew,  he  hastened  to  France. 

Alas !  Lacheneur  judged  the  character  of  his  former 
master  correctly,  when  he  resisted  the  entreaties  of  his 
daughter. 

This  man,  who  had  been  compelled  to  conceal  him- 
self during  the  first  Restoration,  knew  only  too  well, 
that  the  returned  emigres  had  learned  nothing  and  for- 
gotten nothing. 

The  Due  de  Sairmeuse  was  no  exception  to  the 
rule. 

He  thought,  and  nothing  could  be  more  sadly  ab- 
surd, that  a  mere  act  of  authority  would  suffice  to  sup- 
press forever  all  the  events  of  the  Revolution  and  of 
the  empire. 

When  he  said :  "  I  do  not  admit  that !  "  he  firmly  be- 
lieved that  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  said ;  that 
controversy  was  ended;  and  that  what  had  been  was 
as  if  it  had  never  been. 

If  some,  who  had  seen  Louis  XVII.  at  the  helm  in 
1814,  assured  the  duke  that  France  had  changed  in 
many  respects  since  1789,  he  responded  with  a  shrug 
of  the  shoulders : 

"  Nonsense !  As  soon  as  we  assert  ourselves,  all 
these  rascals,  whose  rebellion  alarms  you,  will  quietly 
sink  out  of  sight." 

Such  was  really  his  opinion. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  31 

On  the  way  from  Montaignac  to  Sairmeuse,  the 
duke,  comfortably  ensconced  in  his  berlin,  unfolded 
his  theories  for  the  benefit  of  his  son. 

"  The  King  has  been  poorly  advised,"  he  said,  in 
conclusion.  "  Besides,  I  am  disposed  to  believe  that 
he  inclines  too  much  to  Jacobinism.  If  he  would  lis- 
ten to  my  advice,  he  would  make  use  of  the  twelve 
hundred  thousand  soldiers  which  our  friends  have 
placed  at  his  disposal,  to  bring  his  subjects  to  a  sense 
of  their  duty.  Twelve  hundred  thousand  bayonets 
have  far  more  eloquence  than  the  articles  of  a  charter." 

He  continued  his  remarks  on  this  subject  until  the 
carriage  approached  Sairmeuse. 

Though  but  little  given  to  sentiment,  he  was  really 
affected  by  the  sight  of  the  country  in  which  he  was 
born — where  he  had  played  as  a  child,  and  of  which  he 
had  heard  nothing  since  the  death  of  his  aunt. 

Everything  was  changed :  still  the  outlines  of  the 
landscape  remained  the  same ;  the  valley  of  the  Giselle 
was  as  bright  and  laughing  as  in  days  gone  by. 

"  I  recognize  it !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  delight  that 
made  him  forget  politics.  "  I  recognize  it !  " 

Soon  the  changes  became  more  striking. 

The  carriage  entered  Sairmeuse,  and  rattled  over 
the  stones  of  the  only  street  in  the  village. 

This  street,  in  former  years,  had  been  unpaved,  and 
had  always  been  rendered  impassable  by  wet  weather. 

"  Ah,  ha !  "  murmured  the  duke,  "  this  is  an  im- 
provement !  " 

It  was  not  long  before  he  noticed  others.  The  dilap- 
idated, thatched  hovels  had  given  place  to  pretty  and 
comfortable  white  cottages  with  green  blinds,  and  a 
vine  hanging  gracefully  over  the  door. 

As  the  carriage  passed  the  public  square  in  front  of 


32  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

the  church,  Martial  observed  the  groups  of  peasants 
who  were  still  talking  there. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  all  these  peasants  ?  "  he  in- 
quired of  his  father.  "  Do  they  have  the  appearance  of 
people  who  are  preparing  a  triumphal  reception  for 
their  old  masters?  " 

M.  de  Sairmeuse  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  was 
not  the  man  to  renounce  an  illusion  for  such  a  trifle. 

"  They  do  not  know  that  I  am  in  this  post-chaise," 
he  replied.  "  When  they  know " 

Shouts  of  "  Vive  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Sairmeuse ! " 
interrupted  him. 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  Marquis  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

And  pleased  by  these  cries  that  proved  him  in  the 
right,  he  leaned  from  the  carriage-window,  waving  his 
hand  to  the  honest  Chupin  family,  who  were  running 
after  the  vehicle  with  noisy  shouts. 

The  old  rascal,  his  wife,  and  his  children,  all  pos- 
sessed powerful  voices ;  and  it  was  not  strange  that 
the  duke  believed  the  whole  village  was  welcoming 
him.  He  was  convinced  of  it;  and  when  the  berlin 
stopped  before  the  house  of  the  cure,  M.  de  Sairmeuse 
was  persuaded  that  the  prestige  of  the  nobility  was 
greater  than  ever. 

Upon  the  threshold  of  the  parsonage,  Bibiaine,  the 
old  housekeeper,  was  standing.  She  knew  who  these 
guests  must  be,  for  the  cure's  servants  always  know 
what  is  going  on. 

"  Monsieur  has  not  yet  returned  from  church,"  she 
said,  in  response  to  the  duke's  inquiry ;  "  but  if  the 
gentlemen  wish  to  wait,  it  will  not  be  long  before  he 
comes,  for  the  poor,  dear  man  has  not  breakfasted 
vet.'.' 

"  Let  us  go  in,"  the  duke"  said  to  his  son. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  33 

And  guided  by  the  housekeeper,  they  entered  a  sort 
of  drawing-room,  where  the  table  was  spread. 

M.  de  Sairmeuse  took  an  inventory  of  the  apartment 
in  a  single  glance.  The  habits  of  a  house  reveal  those 
of  its  master.  This  was  clean,  poor,  and  bare.  The 
walls  were  whitewashed ;  a  dozen  chairs  composed  the 
entire  furniture ;  upon  the  table,  laid  with  monastic 
simplicity,  were  only  tin  dishes. 

This  was  either  the  abode  of  an  ambitious  man  or  a 
saint. 

"  Will  these  gentlemen  take  any  refreshments  ?  "  in- 
quired Bibiaine. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  replied  Martial,  "  I  must  confess 
that  the  drive  has  whetted  my  appetite  amazingly." 

"  Blessed  Jesus !  "  exclaimed  the  old  housekeeper,  in 
evident  despair.  "  What  am  I  to  do  ?  I,  who  have 
nothing !  That  is  to  say — yes — I  have  an  old  hen  lefJt 
in  the  coop.  Give  me  time  to  wring  its  neck,  to  pick 
it,  and  clean  it " 

She  paused  to  listen,  and  they  heard  a  step  in  the 
passage. 

"  Ah !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  here  is  Monsieur  le  Cure 
now!" 

The  son  of  a  poor  farmer  in  the  environs  of  Mon- 
taignac,  he  owed  his  Latin  and  tonsure  to  the  priva- 
tions of  his  family. 

Tall,  angular,  and  solemn,  he  was  as  cold  and  impas- 
sive as  the  stones  of  his  church. 

By  what  immense  efforts  of  will,  at  the  cost  of  what 
torture,  had  he  made  himself  what  he  was  ?  One  could 
form  some  idea  of  the  terrible  restraint  to  which  he  had 
subjected  himself  by  looking  at  his  eyes,  which  occa- 
sionally emitted  the  lightnings  of  an  impassioned  soul. 

Was  he  old  or  young?  The  most  subtle  observer 
3 


34  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

would  have  hesitated  to  say  on  seeing  this  pallid  and 
emaciated  face,  cut  in  two  by  an  immense  nose — a  real 
eagle's  beak — as  thin  as  the  edge  of  a  razor. 

He  wore  a  white  cassock,  which  had  been  patched 
and  darned  in  numberless  places,  but  which  was  a 
marvel  of  cleanliness,  and  which  hung  about  his  tall, 
attenuated  body  like  the  sails  of  a  disabled  vessel. 

He  was  known  as  the  Abbe  Midon. 

At  the  sight  of  the  two  strangers  seated  in  his  draw- 
ing-room, he  manifested  some  slight  surprise. 

The  carriage  standing  before  the  door  had  an- 
nounced the  presence  of  a  visitor ;  but  he  had  expected 
to  find  one  of  his  parishioners. 

No  one  had  warned  him  or  the  sacristan,  and  he  was 
wondering  with  whom  he  had  to  deal,  and  what  they 
desired  of  him. 

Mechanically,  he  turned  to  Bibiaine,  but  the  old 
servant  had  taken  flight. 

The  duke  understood  his  host's  astonishment. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Abbe !  "  he  said,  with  the  imperti- 
nent ease  of  a  grand  scignetir  who  makes  himself  at 
home  everywhere,  "  we  have  taken  your  house  by 
storm,  and  hold  the  position,  as  you  see.  I  am  the 
Due  de  Sairmeuse,  and  this  is  my  son,  the  Marquis." 

The  priest  bowed,  but  he  did  not  seem  very  greatly 
impressed  by  the  exalted  rank  of  his  guests. 

"  It  is  a  great  honor  for  me,"  he  replied,  in  a  more 
than  reserved  tone,  "  to  receive  a  visit  from  the  former 
master  of  this  place." 

He  emphasized  this  word  "  former  "  in  such  a  man- 
ner that  it  was  impossible  to  doubt  his  sentiments  and 
his  opinions. 

"  Unfortunately,"  he  continued,  "  you  will  not  find 
here  the  comforts  to  which  you  are  accustomed,  and  I 
fear " 


35 

"  Nonsense  !  "  interrupted  the  duke.  "  An  old  sol- 
dier is  not  fastidious,  and  what  suffices  for  you,  Mon- 
sieur Abbe,  will  suffice  for  us.  And  rest  assured  that 
we  shall  amply  repay  you  in  one  way  or  another  for  any 
inconvenience  we  may  cause  you." 

The  priest's  eye  flashed.  This  want  of  tact,  this 
disagreeable  familiarity,  this  last  insulting  remark, 
kindled  the  anger  of  the  man  concealed  beneath  the 
priest. 

"  Besides,"  added  Martial,  gayly,  "  we  have  been 
vastly  amused  by  Bibiaine's  anxieties,  we  already 
know  that  there  is  a  chicken  in  the  coop " 

"  That  is  to  say  there  was  one,  Monsieur  le  Mar- 
quis." 

The  old  housekeeper,  who  suddenly  reappeared,  ex- 
plained her  master's  response.  She  seemed  over- 
whelmed with  despair. 

"  Blessed  Virgin  !  Monsieur,  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  she 
clamored.  "  The  chicken  has  disappeared.  Some- 
one has  certainly  stolen  it,  for  the  coop  is  securely 
closed ! " 

"  Do  not  accuse  your  neighbor  hastily,"  interrupted 
the  cure;  "  no  one  has  stolen  it  from  us.  Bertrande 
was  here  this  morning  to  ask  alms  in  the  name  of  her 
sick  daughter.  I  had  no  money,  and  I  gave  her  this 
fowl  that  she  might  make  a  good  bouillon  for  the  sick 
girl." 

This  explanation  changed  Bibiaine's  consternation 
to  fury. 

Planting  herself  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  one  hand 
upon  her  hip,  and  gesticulating  wildly  with  the  other, 
she  exclaimed,  pointing  to  her  master: 

"  That  is  just  the  sort  of  man  he  is ;  he  has  less 
sense  than  a  baby !  Any  miserable  peasant  who  meets 


36  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

him  can  make  him  believe  anything  he  wishes.  Any 
great  falsehood  brings  tears  to  his  eyes,  and  then  they 
can  do  what  they  like  with  him.  In  that  way  they  take 
the  very  shoes  off  his  feet  and  the  bread  from  his 
mouth.  Bertrande's  daughter,  messieurs,  is  no  more 
ill  than  you  or  I !  " 

"  Enough,"  said  the  priest,  sternly,  "  enough." 
Then,  knowing  by  experience  that  his  voice  had  not 
the  power  to  check  her  flood  of  reproaches,  he  took  her 
by  the  arm  and  led  her  out  into  the  passage. 

M.  de  Sairmeuse  and  his  son  exchanged  a  glance  of 
consternation. 

Was  this  a  comedy  that  had  been  prepared  for  their 
benefit?  Evidently  not,  since  their  arrival  had  not 
been  expected. 

But  the  priest,  whose  character  had  been  so  plainly 
revealed  by  this  quarrel  with  his  domestic,  was  not  a 
man  to  their  taste. 

At  least,  he  was  evidently  not  the  man  they  had 
hoped  to  find — not  the  auxiliary  whose  assistance  was 
indispensable  to  the  success  of  their  plans. 

Yet  they  did  not  exchange  a  word ;  they  listened. 

They  heard  the  sound  as  of  a  discussion  in  the  pas- 
sage. The  master  spoke  in  low  tones,  but  with  an  un- 
mistakable accent  of  command ;  the  servant  uttered  an 
astonished  exclamation. 

But  the  listeners  could  not  distinguish  a  word. 

Soon  the  priest  re-entered  the  apartment. 

"  I  hope,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  with  a  dignity  that 
could  not  fail  to  check  any  attempt  at  raillery,  "  that 
you  will  excuse  this  ridiculous  scene.  The  cure  of 
Sairmeuse,  thank  God  !  is  not  so  poor  as  she  says." 

Neither  the  duke  nor  Martial  made  any  response. 

Even  their  remarkable  assurance  was  very  sensibly 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  37 

diminished;  and  M.  de  Sairmeuse  deemed  it  advisable 
to  change  the  subject. 

This  he  did,  by  relating  the  events  which  he  had  just 
witnessed  in  Paris,  and  by  insisting  that  His  Majesty, 
Louis  XVIII. ,  had  been  welcomed  with  enthusiasm 
and  transports  of  affection. 

Fortunately,  the  old  housekeeper  interrupted  this 
recital. 

She  entered,  loaded  with  china,  silver,  and  bottles, 
and  behind  her  came  a  large  man  in  a  white  apron, 
bearing  three  or  four  covered  dishes  in  his  hands. 

It  was  the  order  to  go  and  obtain  this  repast  from 
the  village  inn  which  had  drawn  from  Bibiaine  so  many 
exclamations  of  wonder  and  dismay  in  the  passage. 

A  moment  later  the  cure  and  his  guests  took  their 
places  at  the  table. 

Had  the  much-lamented  chicken  constituted  the  din- 
ner the  rations  would  have  been  "  short."  This  the 
worthy  woman  was  obliged  to  confess,  on  seeing  the 
terrible  appetite  evinced  by  M.  de  Sairmeuse  and  his 
son. 

"  One  would  have  sworn  that  they  had  eaten  noth- 
ing for  a  fortnight,"  she  told  her  friends,  the  next  day. 

Abbe  Midon  was  not  hungry,  though  it  was  two 
o'clock,  and  he  had  eaten  nothing  since  the  previous 
evening. 

The  sudden  arrival  of  the  former  masters  of  Sair- 
meuse filled  his  heart  with  gloomy  forebodings.  Their 
coming,  he  believed,  presaged  the  greatest  misfort- 
unes. 

So  while  he  played  with  his  knife  and  fork,  pretend- 
ing to  eat,  he  was  really  occupied  in  watching  his 
guests,  and  in  studying  them  with  all  the  penetration 
of  a  priest,  which,  by  the  way,  is  generally  far  superior 
to  that  of  a  physician  or  of  a  magistrate. 


38  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

The  Due  de  Sairmeuse  was  fifty-seven,  but  looked 
considerably  younger. 

The  storms  of  his  youth,  the  dissipation  of  his  riper 
years,  the  great  excesses  of  every  kind  in  which  he  had 
indulged,  had  not  impaired  his  iron  constitution  in  the 
least. 

Of  herculean  build,  he  was  extremely  proud  of  his 
strength,  and  of  his  hands,  which  were  well-formed, 
but  large,  firmly  knit  and  powerful,  such  hands  as 
rightly  belonged  to  a  gentleman  whose  ancestors  had 
given  many  a  crushing  blow  with  ponderous  battle-axe 
in  the  crusades. 

His  face  revealed  his  character.  He  possessed  all 
the  graces  and  all  the  vices  of  a  courtier. 

He  was,  at  the  same  time  spiritucl  and  ignorant, 
sceptical  and  violently  imbued  with  the  prejudices  of 
his  class. 

Though  less  robust  than  his  father,  Martial  was 
a  no  less  distinguished-looking  cavalier.  It  was  not 
strange  that  women  raved  over  his  blue  eyes,  and  the 
beautiful  blond  hair  which  he  inherited  from  his 
mother. 

To  his  father  he  owed  energy,  courage,  and,  it  must 
also  be  added,  perversity.  But  he  was  his  superior  in 
education  and  in  intellect.  If  he  shared  his  father's 
prejudices,  he  had  not  adopted  them  without  weighing 
them  carefully.  What  the  father  might  do  in  a  mo- 
ment of  excitement,  the  son  was  capable  of  doing  in 
cold  blood. 

It  was  thus  that  the  abbe,  with  rare  sagacity,  read 
the  character  of  his  guests. 

So  it  was  with  great  sorrow,  but  without  surprise, 
that  he  heard  the  duke  advance,  on  the  questions  of 
the  day,  the  impossible  ideas  shared  by  nearly  all  the 
emigres. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  39 

Knowing  the  condition  of  the  country,  and  the  state 
of  public  opinion,  the  cure  endeavored  to  convince  the 
obstinate  man  of  his  mistake;  but  upon  this  subject 
the  duke  would  not  permit  contradiction,  or  even  rail- 
lery ;  and  he  was  fast  losing  his  temper,  when  Bibiaine 
appeared  at  the  parlor  door. 

"  Monsieur  le  Due,"  said  she,  "  Monsieur  Lacheneur 
and  his  daughter  are  without  and  desire  to  speak  to 
you." 

CHAPTER  IV. 

This  name  Lacheneur  awakened  no  recollection  in 
the  mind  of  the  duke. 

First,  he  had  never  lived  at  Sairmeuse. 

And  even  if  he  had,  what  courtier  of  the  ancien 
regime  ever  troubled  himself  about  the  individual 
names  of  the  peasants,  whom  he  regarded  with  such 
profound  indifference. 

When  a  grand  seigneur  addressed  these  people,  he 
said :  "  Halloo  !  hi,  there !  friend,  my  worthy  fellow !  " 

So  it  was  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  is  making  an 
effort  of  memory  that  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  re- 
peated : 

"  Lacheneur — Monsieur  Lacheneur " 

But  Martial,  a  closer  observer  than  his  father,  had 
noticed  that  the  priest's  glance  wavered  at  the  sound 
of  this  name. 

"  Who  is  this  person,  Abbe  ?  "  demanded  the  duke, 
lightly. 

"  Monsieur  Lacheneur,"  replied  the  priest,  with  very 
evident  hesitation,  "  is  the  present  owner  of  the 
Chateau  de  Sairmeuse." 

Martial,  the  precocious  diplomat,  could  not  repress 


40  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

a  smile  on  hearing  this  response,  which  he  had  fore- 
seen. But  the  duke  bounded  from  his  chair. 

"  Ah !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  it  is  the  rascal  who  has  had 
the  impudence —  Let  him  come  in,  old  woman,  let 
him  come  in." 

Bibiaine  retired,  and  the  priest's  uneasiness  in- 
creased. 

"  Permit  me,  Monsieur  le  Due,"  he  said,  hastily,  "  to 
remark  that  Monsieur  Lacheneur  exercises  a  great  in- 
fluence in  this  region — to  offend  him  would  be  im- 
politic  " 

"  I  understand — you  advise  me  to  be  conciliatory. 
Such  sentiments  are  purely  Jacobin.  If  His  Majesty 
listens  to  the  advice  of  such  as  you,  all  these  sales  of 
confiscated  estates  will  be  ratified.  Zounds!  our  in- 
terests are  the  same.  If  the  Revolution  has  deprived 
the  nobility  of  their  property,  it  has  also  impoverished 
the  clergy." 

"  The  possessions  of  a  priest  are  not  of  this  world, 
Monsieur,"  said  the  cure,  coldly. 

M.  de  Sairmeuse  was  about  to  make  some  imperti- 
nent response,  when  M.  Lacheneur  appeared,  followed 
by  his  daughter. 

The  wretched  man  was  ghastly  pale,  great  drops  of 
perspiration  stood  out  upon  his  temples,  his  restless, 
haggard  eyes  revealed  his  distress  of  mind. 

Marie-Anne  was  as  pale  as  her  father,  but  her  atti- 
tude and  the  light  that  burned  in  her  eyes  told  of  in- 
vincible energy  and  determination. 

"Ah,  well !  friend,"  said  the  duke,  "  so  we  are  the 
owner  of  Sairmeuse,  it  seems." 

This  was  said  with  such  a  careless  insolence  of  man- 
ner that  the  cure  blushed  that  they  should  thus  treat,  in 
his  own  house,  a  man  whom  he  considered  his  equal. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  41 

He  rose  and  offered  the  visitors  chairs. 

"  Will  you  take  a  seat,  dear  Monsieur  Lacheneur?  " 
said  he,  with  a  politeness  intended  as  a  lesson  fdr 
the  duke ;  "  and  you,  also,  Mademoiselle,  do  me  the 
honor " 

But  the  father  and  the  daughter  both  refused  the 
proffered  civility  with  a  motion  of  the  head. 

"  Monsieur  le  Due,"  continued  Lacheneur,  "  I  am 
an  old  servant  of  your  house " 

"Ah!  indeed!" 

"  Mademoiselle  Armande,  your  aunt,  accorded 
my  poor  mother  the  honor  of  acting  as  my  god- 
mother   " 

"Ah,  yes,"  interrupted  the  duke.  "  I  remember  you 
now.  Our  family  has  shown  great  goodness  to  you 
and  yours.  And  it  was  to  prove  your  gratitude,  prob- 
ably, that  you  made  haste  to  purchase  our  estate !  " 

The  former  ploughboy  was  of  humble  origin,  but  his 
heart  and  his  character  had  developed  with  his  fort- 
une's ;  he  understood  his  own  worth. 

Much  as  he  was  disliked,  and  even  detested,  by  his 
neighbors,  everyone  respected  him. 

And  here  was  a  man  who  treated  him  with  undis- 
guised scorn.  Why?  By  what  right? 

Indignant  at  the  outrage,  he  made  a  movement  as  if 
to  retire. 

No  one,  save  his  daughter,  knew  the  truth ;  he  had 
only  to  keep  silence  and  Sairmeuse  remained  his. 

Yes,  he  had  still  the  power  to  keep  Sairmeuse,  and 
he  knew  it,  for  he  did  not  share  the  fears  of  the  igno- 
rant rustics.  He  was  too  well  informed  not  to  be  able 
to  distinguish  between  the  hopes  of  the  emigres  and 
the  possible.  He  knew  that  an  abyss  separated  the 
dream  from  the  reality. 


42  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

A  beseeching1  word  uttered  in  a  low  tone  by  his 
daughter,  made  him  turn  again  to  the  duke. 
•  "  If  I  purchased  Sairmeuse,"  he  answered,  in  a  voice 
husky  with  emotion,  "  it  was  in  obedience  to  the  com- 
mand of  your  dying  aunt,  and  with  the  money  which 
she  gave  me  for  that  purpose.  If  you  see  me  here,  it  is 
only  because  I  come  to  restore  to  you  the  deposit  con- 
fided to  my  keeping." 

Anyone  not  belonging  to  that  class  of  spoiled  fools 
which  surround  a  throne  would  have  been  deeply 
touched. 

But  the  duke  thought  this  grand  act  of  honesty  and 
of  generosity  the  most  simple  and  natural  thing  in  the 
world. 

"  That  is  very  well,  so  far  as  the  principal  is  con- 
cerned," said  he.  "  Let  us  speak  now  of  the  interest. 
Sairmeuse,  if  I  remember  rightly,  yielded  an  average 
income  of  one  thousand  louis  per  year.  These  reve- 
nues, well  invested,  should  have  amounted  to  a  very 
considerable  amount.  Where  is  this  ?  " 

This  claim,  thus  advanced  and  at  such  a  moment, 
was  so  outrageous,  that  Martial,  disgusted,  made  a 
sign  to  his  father,  which  the  latter  did  not  see. 

But  the  cure  hoping  to  recall  the  extortioner  to  some- 
thing like  a  sense  of  shame,  exclaimed : 

"  Monsieur  le  Due !     Oh,  Monsieur  le  Due !  " 

Lacheneur  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  an  air  of 
resignation. 

"  The  income  I  have  used  for  my  own  living  ex- 
penses, and  in  educating  my  children ;  but  most  of  it 
has  been  expended  in  improving  the  estate,  which  to- 
day yields  an  income  twice  as  large  as  in  former 
years." 

"  That  is  to  say,  for  twenty  years,  Monsieur  Lache- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  43 

neur  has  played  the  part  of  lord  of  the  manor.  A  de- 
lightful comedy.  You  are  rich  now,  I  suppose." 

"  I  possess  nothing.  But  I  hope  you  will  allow  me 
to  take  ten  thousand  francs,  which  your  aunt  gave  to 
me." 

"  Ah !  she  gave  you  ten  thousand  francs  ?  And 
when  ?  " 

"  On  the  same  evening  that  she  gave  me  the  eighty 
thousand  francs  intended  for  the  purchase  of  the  es- 
tate." 

"  Perfect !  What  proof  can  you  furnish  that  she 
gave  you  this  sum  ?  " 

Lacheneur  stood  motionless  and  speechless.  He 
tried  to  reply,  but  he  could  not.  If  he  opened  his  lips 
it  would  only  be  to  pour  forth  a  torrent  of  menaces,  in- 
sults, and  invectives. 

Marie-Anne  stepped  quickly  forward. 

"  The  proof,  Monsieur,"  said  she,  in  a  clear,  ringing 
voice,  "  is  the  word  of  this  man,  who,  of  his  own  free 
will,  comes  to  return  to  you — to  give  you  a  fortune." 

As  she  sprang  forward  her  beautiful  dark  hair  es- 
caped from  its  confinement,  the  rich  blood  crimsoned 
her  cheeks,  her  dark  eyes  flashed  brilliantly,  and  sor- 
row, anger,  horror  at  the  humiliation,  imparted  a  sub- 
lime expression  to  her  face. 

She  was  so  beautiful  that  Martial  regarded  her  with 
wonder. 

"  Lovely !  "  he  murmured,  in  English ;  "  beautiful  as 
an  angel !  " 

These  words,  which  she  understood,  abashed  Marie- 
Anne.  But  she  had  said  enough ;  her  father  felt  that 
he  was  avenged. 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  roll  of  papers,  and 
throwing  them  upon  the  table : 


44  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  Here  are  your  titles,"  he  said,  addressing  the  duke 
in  a  tone  full  of  implacable  hatred.  "  Keep  the  legacy 
that  your  aunt  gave  me,  I  wish  nothing  of  yours.  I 
shall  never  set  foot  in  Sairmeuse  again.  Penniless  I 
entered  it,  penniless  I  will  leave  it !  " 

He  quitted  the  room  with  head  proudly  erect,  and 
when  they  were  outside,  he  said  but  one  word  to  his 
daughter : 

"  Well !  " 

"  You  have  done  your  duty,"  she  replied ;  "  it  is 
those  who  have  not  done  it,  who  are  to  be  pitied !  " 

She  had  no  opportunity  to  say  more.  Martial  came 
running  after  them,  anxious  for  another  chance  of  see- 
ing this  young  girl  whose  beauty  had  made  such  an  im- 
pression upon  him. 

"  I  hastened  after  you,"  he  said,  addressing  Marie- 
Anne,  rather  than  M.  Lacheneur,  "  to  reassure  you. 
All  this  will  be  arranged,  Mademoiselle.  Eyes  so 
beautiful  as  yours  should  never  know  tears.  I  will  be 
your  advocate  with  my  father " 

"  Mademoiselle  Lacheneur  has  no  need  of  an  advo- 
cate !  "  a  harsh  voice  interrupted. 

Martial  turned,  and  saw  the  young  man,  who,  that 
morning,  went  to  warn  M.  Lacheneur  of  the  duke's  ar- 
rival. 

"  I  am  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse,"  he  said,  inso- 
lently. 

"  And  I,"  said  the  other,  quietly,  "  am  Maurice  d'Es- 
corval." 

They  surveyed  each  other  for  a  moment ;  each  ex- 
pecting, perhaps,  an  insult  from  the  other.  Instinc- 
tively, they  felt  that  they  were  to  be  enemies ;  and  the 
bitterest  animosity  spoke  in  the  glances  they  ex- 
changed. Perhaps  they  felt  a  presentiment  that  they 


"  The  proof,  Monsieur,  is  the  word  of  this  man,  who  of  his  own 
free  will  comes  to  return  to  you — to  give  you  a  fortune." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  45 

were  to  be  champions  of  two  different  principles,  as 
well  as  rivals. 

Martial,  remembering  his  father,  yielded. 

"  We  shall  meet  again,  Monsieur  d'Escorval,"  he 
said,  as  he  retired.  At  this  threat,  Maurice  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  and  said : 

"  You  had  better  not  desire  it." 


CHAPTER  V 

The  abode  of  the  Baron  d'Escorval,  that  brick  struct- 
ure with  stone  trimmings  which  was  visible  from  the 
superb  avenue  leading  to  Sairmeuse,  was  small  and 
unpretentious. 

Its  chief  attraction  was  a  pretty  lawn  that  extended 
to  the  banks  of  the  Giselle,  and  a  small  but  beautifully 
shaded  park. 

It  was  known  as  the  Chateau  d'Escorval,  but  that 
appellation  was  gross  flattery.  Any  petty  manufact- 
urer who  had  amassed  a  small  fortune  would  have  de- 
sired a  larger,  handsomer,  and  more  imposing  estab- 
lishment. 

M.  d'Escorval — and  it  will  be  an  eternal  honor  to 
him  in  history — was  not  rich. 

Although  he  had  been  intrusted  with  several  of  those 
missions  from  which  generals  and  diplomats  often  re- 
turn laden  with  millions,  M.  d'Escorval's  worldly  pos- 
sessions consisted  only  of  the  little  patrimony  be- 
queathed him  by  his  father :  a  property  which  yielded 
an  income  of  from  twenty  to  twenty-five  thousand 
francs  a  year. 

This  modest  dwelling,  situated  about  a  mile  from 
Sairmeuse,  represented  the  savings  of  ten  years. 


46  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

He  had  built  it  in  1806,  from  a  plan  drawn  by  his 
own  hand ;  and  it  was  the  dearest  spot  on  earth  to  him. 

He  always  hastened  to  this  retreat  when  his  work 
allowed  him  a  few  days  of  rest. 

But  this  time  he  had  not  come  to  Escorval  of  his  own 
free  will. 

He  had  been  compelled  to  leave  Paris  by  the  pro- 
scribed list  of  the  24th  of  July — that  fatal  list  which 
summoned  the  enthusiastic  Labedoyere  and  the  honest 
and  virtuous  Drouot  before  a  court-martial. 

And  even  in  this  solitude,  M.  d'Escorval's  situation 
was  not  without  danger. 

He  was  one  of  those  who,  some  days  before  the  dis- 
aster of  Waterloo,  had  strongly  urged  the  Emperor  to 
order  the  execution  of  Fouche,  the  former  minister  of 
police. 

Now,  Fouche  knew  this  counsel ;  and  he  was  pow- 
erful. 

"  Take  care !  "  M.  d'Escorval's  friends  wrote  him 
from  Paris. 

But  he  put  his  trust  in  Providence,  and  faced  the 
future,  threatening  though  it  was,  with  the  unalterable 
serenity  of  a  pure  conscience. 

The  baron  was  still  young;  he  was  not  yet  fifty,  but 
anxiety,  work,  and  long  nights  passed  in  struggling 
with  the  most  arduous  difficulties  of  the  imperial  pol- 
icy, had  made  him  old  before  his  time. 

He  was  tall,  slightly  inclined  to  embonpoint,  and 
stooped  a  little. 

His  calm  eyes,  his  serious  mouth,  his  broad,  fur- 
rowed forehead,  and  his  austere  manners  inspired  re- 
spect. 

"  He  must  be  stern  and  inflexible,"  said  those  who 
saw  him  ior  the  first  time. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  47 

But  they  were  mistaken. 

If,  in  the  exercise  of  his  official  duties,  this  truly 
great  man  had  the  strength  to  resist  all  temptations  to 
swerve  from  the  path  of  right ;  if,  when  duty  was  at 
stake,  he  was  as  rigid  as  iron,  in  private  life  he  was  as 
unassuming  as  a  child,  and  kind  and  gentle  even  to  the 
verge  of  weakness. 

To  this  nobility  of  character  he  owed  his  domestic 
happiness,  that  rare  and  precious  happiness  which  fills 
one's  existence  with  a  celestial  perfume. 

During  the  bloodiest  epoch  of  the  Reign  of  Terror, 
M.  d'Escorval  had  wrested  from  the  guillotine  a  young 
girl  named  Victoire-Laure  d'Alleu,  a  distant  cousin 
of  the  Rhetaus  of  Commarin,  as  beautiful  as  an  angel, 
and  only  three  years  younger  than  himself. 

He  loved  her — and  though  she  was  an  orphan,  desti- 
tute of  fortune,  he  married  her,  considering  the  treas- 
ure of  her  virgin  heart  of  far  greater  value  than  the 
most  magnificent  dowry. 

She  was  an  honest  woman,  as  her  husband  was  an 
honest  man,  in  the  most  strict  and  vigorous  sense  of 
the  word. 

She  was  seldom  seen  at  the  Tuileries,  where  M.  d'Es- 
corval's  worth  made  him  eagerly  welcomed.  The 
splendors  of  the  Imperial  Court,  which  at  that  time 
surpassed  all  the  pomp  of  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.,  had 
no  attractions  for  her. 

Grace,  beauty,  youth  and  accomplishments — she  re- 
served them  all  for  the  adornment  of  her  home. 

Her  husband  was  her  God.  She  lived  in  him  and 
through  him.  She  had  not  a  thought  which  did  not 
belong  to  him. 

The  short  time  that  he  could  spare  from  his  arduous 
labors  to  devote  to  her  were  her  happiest  hours. 


48  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

And  when,  in  the  evening,  they  sat  beside  the  fire 
in  their  modest  drawing-room,  with  their  son  Maurice 
playing  on  the  rug  at  their  feet,  it  seemed  to  them  that 
they  had  nothing  to  wish  for  here  below. 

The  overthrow  of  the  empire  surprised  them  in  the 
heydey  of  their  happiness. 

Surprised  them?  No.  For  a  long  time  M.  d'Es- 
corval  had  seen  the  prodigious  edifice  erected  by  the 
genius  whom  he  had  made  his  idol  totter  as  if  about  to 
fall. 

Certainly,  he  felt  intense  chagrin  at  this  fall,  but  he 
was  heart-broken  at  the  sight  of  all  the  treason  and 
cowardice  which  followed  it.  He  was  indignant  and 
horrified  at  the  rising  en  masse  of  the  avaricious,  who 
hastened  to  gorge  themselves  with  the  spoil. 

Under  these  circumstances,  exile  from  Paris  seemed 
an  actual  blessing. 

"  Besides,"  as  he  remarked  to  the  baroness,  "  we 
shall  soon  be  forgotten  here." 

But  even  while  he  said  this  he  felt  many  misgivings. 
Still,  by  his  side,  his  noble  wife  presented  a  tranquil 
face,  even  while  she  trembled  for  the  safety  of  her 
adored  husband. 

On  this  first  Sunday  in  August,  M.  d'Escorval  and 
his  wife  had  been  unusually  sad.  A  vague  presenti- 
ment of  approaching  misfortune  weighed  heavily  upon 
their  hearts. 

At  the  same  hour  that  Lacheneur  presented  himself 
at  the  house  of  the  Abbe  Midon,  they  were  seated  upon 
the  terrace  in  front  of  the  house,  gazing  anxiously  at 
the  two  roads  leading  from  Escorval  to  the  chateau, 
and  to  the  village  of  Sairmeuse. 

Warned,  that  same  morning,  by  his  friends  in  Mon- 
taignac  of  the  arrival  of  the  duke,  the  baron  had  sent 
his  son  to  inform  M.  Lacheneur. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  49 

He  had  requested  him  to  be  absent  as  short  a  time  as 
possible ;  but  in  spite  of  this  fact,  the  hours  were  roll- 
ing by,  and  Maurice  had  not  returned. 

"  What  if  something  has  happened  to  him !  "  both 
father  and  mother  were  thinking. 

No ;  nothing  had  happened  to  him.  Only  a  word 
from  Mile.  Lacheneur  had  sufficed  to  make  him  forget 
his  usual  deference  to  his  father's  wishes. 

"  This  evening,"  she  had  said,  "  I  shall  certainly 
know  your  heart." 

What  could  this  mean  ?     Could  she  doubt  him  ? 

Tortured  by  the  most  cruel  anxieties,  the  poor  youth 
could  not  resolve  to  go  away  without  an  explanation, 
and  he  hung  around  the  chateau  hoping  that  Marie- 
Anne  would  reappear. 

She  did  reappear  at  last,  but  leaning  upon  the  arm 
of  her  father. 

Young  D'Escorval  followed  them  at  a  distance,  and 
soon  saw  them  enter  the  parsonage.  What  were  they 
going  to  do  there?  He  knew  that  the  duke  and  his 
son  were  within. 

The  time  that  they  remained  there,  and  which  he 
passed  in  the  public  square,  seemed  more  than  a  cen- 
tury long. 

They  emerged  at  last,  however,  and  he  was  about  to 
join  them  when  he  was  prevented  by  the  appearance 
of  Martial,  whose  promises  he  overheard. 

Maurice  knew  nothing  of  life  ;  he  was  as  innocent  as 
a  child,  but  he  could  not  mistake  the  intentions  that 
dictated  this  step  on  the  part  of  the  Marquis  de  Sair- 
meuse. 

At  the  thought  that  a  libertine's  caprice  should  dare 
rest  for  an  instant  upon  the  pure  and  beautiful  girl 
whom  he  loved  with  all  the  strength  of  his  being — 
4 


So  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

whom  he  had  sworn  should  be  his  wife — all  his  blood 
mounted  madly  to  his  brain. 

He  felt  a  wild  longing  to  chastise  the  insolent 
wretch. 

Fortunately — unfortunately,  perhaps — his  hand  was 
arrested  by  the  recollection  of  a  phrase  which  he  had 
heard  his  father  repeat  a  thousand  times : 

"  Calmness  and  irony  are  the  only  weapons  worthy 
of  the  strong." 

And  he  possessed  sufficient  strength  of  will  to  ap- 
pear calm,  while,  in  reality,  he  was  beside  himself  with 
passion.  It  was  Martial  who  lost  his  self-control,  and 
who  threatened  him. 

"  Ah !  yes,  I  will  find  you  again,  upstart !  "  repeated 
Maurice,  through  his  set  teeth  as  he  watched  his  enemy 
move  away. 

For  Martial  had  turned  and  discovered  that  Marie- 
Anne  and  her  father  had  left  him.  He  saw  them  stand- 
ing about  a  hundred  paces  from  him.  Although  he 
was  surprised  at  their  indifference,  he  made  haste  to 
join  them,  and  addressed  M.  Lacheneur. 

"  We  are  just  going  to  your  father's  house,"  was  the 
response  he  received,  in  an  almost  ferocious  tone. 

A  glance  from  Marie-Anne  commanded  silence.  He 
obeyed,  and  walked  a  few  steps  behind  them,  with  his 
head  bowed  upon  his  breast,  terribly  anxious,  and 
seeking  vainly  to  explain  what  had  passed. 

His  attitude  betrayed  such  intense  sorrow  that  his 
mother  divined  it  as  soon  as  she  caught  sight  of  him. 

All  the  anguish  which  this  courageous  woman  had 
hidden  for  a  month,  found  utterance  in  a  single  cry. 

"  Ah  !  here  is  misfortune  !  "  said  she  :  "  we  shall  not 
escape  it." 

It  was,  indeed,  misfortune.  One  could  not  doubt  it 
when  one  saw  M.  Lacheneur  enter  the  drawing-room. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  51 

He  advanced  with  the  heavy,  uncertain  step  of  a 
drunken  man,  his  eye  void  of  expression,  his  feat- 
ures distorted,  his  lips  pale  and  trembling. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  asked  the  baron,  eagerly. 

But  the  other  did  not  seem  to  hear  him. 

"  Ah !  I  warned  her,"  he  murmured,  continuing  a 
monologue  which  had  begun  before  he  entered  the 
room.  "  I  told  my  daughter  so." 

Mme.  d'Escorval,  after  kissing  Marie-Anne,  drew 
the  girl  toward  her. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  For  God's  sake,  tell  me 
what  has  happened !  "  she  exclaimed. 

With  a  gesture  expressive  of  the  most  sorrowful  res- 
ignation, the  girl  motioned  her  to  look  and  to  listen  to 
M.  Lacheneur. 

He  had  recovered  from  that  stupor — that  gift  of  God 
— which  follows  cries  that  are  too  terrible  for  human 
endurance.  Like  a  sleeper  who,  on  waking,  finds  his 
miseries  forgotten  during  his  slumber,  lying  in  wait 
for  him,  he  regained  with  consciousness  the  capacity 
to  suffer. 

"  It  is  only  this,  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  replied  the  un- 
fortunate man  in  a  harsh,  unnatural  voice :  "  I  rose 
this  morning  the  richest  proprietor  in  the  country,  and 
I  shall  lay  down  to-night  poorer  than  the  poorest  beg- 
gar in  this  commune.  I  had  everything ;  I  no  longer 
have  anything — nothing  but  my  two  hands.  They 
earned  me  my  bread  for  twenty-five  years;  they  will 
earn  it  for  me  now  until  the  day  of  my  death.  I  had  a 
beautiful  dream ;  it  is  ended." 

Before  this  outburst  of  despair,  M.  d'Escorval  turned 
pale. 

"  You  must  exaggerate  your  misfortune,"  he  fal- 
tered ;  "  explain  what  has  happened." 


52  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

Unconscious  of  what  he  was  doing,  M.  Lacheneur 
threw  his  hat  upon  a  chair,  and  flinging  back  his  long, 
gray  hair,  he  said : 

"  To  you  I  will  tell  all.  I  came  here  for  that  pur- 
pose. I  know  you:  I  know  your  heart.  And  have 
you  not  done  me  the  honor  to  call  me  your  friend?  " 

Then,  with  the  cruel  exactness  of  the  living,  breath- 
ing truth,  he  related  the  scene  which  had  just  taken 
place  at  the  presbytery. 

The  baron  listened  petrified  with  astonishment,  al- 
most doubting  the  evidence  of  his  own  senses.  Mme. 
d'Escorval's  indignant  and  sorrowful  exclamations 
showed  that  every  noble  sentiment  in  her  soul  revolted 
against  such  injustice. 

But  there  was  one  auditor,  whom  Marie-Anne  alone 
observed,  who  was  moved  to  his  very  entrails  by  this 
recital.  This  auditor  was  Maurice. 

Leaning  against  the  door,  pale  as  death,  he  tried 
most  energetically,  but  in  vain,  to  repress  the  tears  of 
rage  and  of  sorrow  which  swelled  up  in  his  eyes. 

To  insult  Lacheneur  was  to  insult  Marie-Anne — 
that  is  to  say,  to  injure,  to  strike,  to  outrage  him  in  all 
that  he  held  most  dear  in  the  world. 

Ah !  it  is  certain  that  Martial,  had  he  been  within 
his  reach,  would  have  paid  dearly  for  these  insults  to 
the  father  of  the  girl  Maurice  loved. 

But  he  swore  that  this  chastisement  was  only  de- 
ferred— that  it  should  surely  come. 

And  it  was  not  mere  angry  boasting.  This  young 
man,  though  so  modest  and  so  gentle  in  manner,  had  a 
heart  that  was  inaccessible  to  fear.  His  beautiful, 
dark  eyes,  which  had  the  trembling  timidity  of  the  eyes 
of  a  young  girl,  met  the  gaze  of  an  enemy  without 
flinching. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  53 

When  M.  Lacheneur  had  repeated  the  last  words 
which  he  had  addressed  to  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse,  M. 
d'Escorval  offered  him  his  hand. 

"  I  have  told  you  already  that  I  was  your  friend,"  he 
said,  in  a  voice  faltering  with  emotion ;  "  but  I  must 
tell  you  to-day  that  I  am  proud  of  having  such  a  friend 
as  you." 

The  unfortunate  man  trembled  at  the  touch  of  that 
loyal  hand  which  clasped  his  so  warmly,  and  his  face 
betrayed  an  ineffable  satisfaction. 

"  If  my  father  had  not  returned  it,"  murmured  the 
obstinate  Marie- Anne,  "  my  father  would  have  been 
an  unfaithful  guardian — a  thief.  He  has  done  only  his 
duty." 

M.  d'Escorval  turned  to  the  young  girl,  a  little  sur- 
prised. 

"  You  speak  the  truth,  Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  re- 
proachfully ;  "  but  when  you  are  as  old  as  I  am,  and 
have  had  my  experience,  you  will  know  that  the  ac- 
complishment of  a  duty  is,  under  certain  circum- 
stances, a  heroism  of  which  few  persons  are  capable." 

M.  Lacheneur  turned  to  his  friend. 

"  Ah !  your  words  do  me  good,  Monsieur,"  said  he. 
"  Now,  I  am  content  with  what  I  have  done." 

The  baroness  rose,  too  much  the  woman  to  know 
how  to  resist  the  generous  dictates  of  her  heart. 

"  And  I,  also,  Monsieur  Lacheneur,"  she  said,  "  de- 
sire to  press  your  hand.  I  wish  to  tell  you  that  I  es- 
teem you  as  much  as  I  despise  the  ingrates  who  have 
sought  to  humiliate  you,  when  they  should  have  fallen 
at  your  feet.  They  are  heartless  monsters,  the  like  of 
whom  certainly  cannot  be  found  upon  the  earth." 

"  Alas  !  "  sighed  the  baron,  "  the  allies  have  brought 
back  others  who,  like  these  men,  think  the  world  cre- 
ated exclusively  for  their  benefit." 


54  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  And  these  people  wish  to  be  our  masters,"  growled 
Lacheneur. 

By  some  strange  fatality  no  one  chanced  to  hear  the 
remark  made  by  M.  Lacheneur.  Had  they  overheard 
and  questioned  him,  he  would  probably  have  disclosed 
some  of  the  projects  which  were  as  yet  in  embryo  in 
his  own  mind ;  and  in  that  case  what  disastrous  con- 
sequences might  have  been  averted. 

M.  d'Escorval  had  regained  his  usual  coolness. 

"  Now,  my  dear  friend,"  he  inquired,  "  what  course 
do  you  propose  to  pursue  with  these  members  of  the 
Sairmeuse  family  ?  " 

"  They  will  hear  nothing  more  from  me — for  some 
time,  at  least." 

"  What !  Shall  you  not  claim  the  ten  thousand  francs 
that  they  owe  you  ?  " 

"  I  shall  ask  them  for  nothing." 

"  You  will  be  compelled  to  do  so.  Since  you  have 
alluded  to  the  legacy,  your  own  honor  will  demand 
that  you  insist  upon  its  payment  by  all  legal  methods. 
There  are  still  judges  in  France." 

M.  Lacheneur  shook  his  head. 

"  The  judges  will  not  accord  me  the  justice  I  desire. 
I  shall  not  apply  to  them." 

"  But " 

"  No,  Monsieur,  no.  I  wish  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  these  men.  I  shall  not  even  go  to  the  chateau  to 
remove  my  clothing  nor  that  of  my  daughter.  If  they 
send  it  to  us — very  well.  If  it  pleases  them  to  keep 
it,  so  much  the  better.  The  more  shameful,  infamous 
and  odious  their  conduct  appears,  the  better  I  shall 
be  satisfied." 

The  baron  made  no  reply;  but  his  wife  spoke,  be- 
lieving she  had  a  sure  means  of  conquering  this  in- 
comprehensible obstinacy. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  55 

"  I  should  understand  your  determination  if  you 
were  alone  in  the  world,"  said  she,  "  but  you  have 
children." 

"  My  son  is  eighteen,  Madame;  he  possesses  good 
health  and  an  excellent  education.  He  can  make  his 
own  way  in  Paris,  if  he  chooses  to  remain  there." 

"  But  your  daughter  ?  " 

"  Marie-Anne  will  remain  with  me." 

M.  d'Escorval  thought  it  his  duty  to  interfere. 

"  Take  care,  my  dear  friend,  that  your  grief  does 
not  overthrow  your  reason,"  said  he.  "  Reflect  ! 
What  will  become  of  you — your  daughter  and  your- 
self?" 

The  wretched  man  smiled  sadly. 

"  Oh,"  he  replied,  "  we  are  not  as  destitute  as  I 
said.  I  exaggerated  our  misfortune.  We  are  still 
landed  proprietors.  Last  year  an  old  cousin,  whom 
I  could  never  induce  to  come  and  live  at  Sairmeuse, 
died,  bequeathing  all  her  property  to  Marie-Anne. 
This  property  consisted  of  a  poor  little  cottage  near 
the  Reche,  with  a  little  garden  and  a  few  acres  of 
sterile  land.  In  compliance  with  my  daughter's  en- 
treaties, I  repaired  the  cottage,  and  sent  there  a  few 
articles  of  furniture — a  table,  some  chairs,  and  a  cou- 
ple of  beds.  My  daughter  designed  it  as  a  home  for 
old  Father  Guvat  and  his  wife.  And  I,  surrounded 
by  wealth  and  luxury,  said  to  myself :  '  How  com- 
fortable those  two  old  people  will  be  there.  They  will 
live  as  snug  as  a  bug  in  a  rug ! '  Well,  what  I  thought 
so  comfortable  for  others,  will  be  good  enough  for 
me.  I  will  raise  vegetables,  and  Marie-Anne  shall  sell 
them." 

Was  he  speaking  seriously? 

Maurice  must  have  supposed  so,  for  he  sprang 
forward. 


56  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  This  shall  not  be,  Monsieur  Lacheneur !  "  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"Oh— 

"  No,  this  shall  not  be,  for  I  love  Marie-Anne,  and 
I  ask  you  to  give  her  to  me  for  my  wife." 


CHAPTER   VI 

Maurice  and  Marie-Anne  had  loved  each  other  for 
many  years. 

As  children,  they  had  played  together  in  the  magnifi- 
cent grounds  surrounding  the  Chateau  de  Sairmeuse, 
and  in  the  park  at  Escorval. 

Together  they  chased  the  brilliant  butterflies, 
searched  for  pebbles  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  or  rolled 
in  the  hay  while  their  mothers  sauntered  through  the 
meadows  bordering  the  Giselle. 

For  their  mothers  were  friends. 

Mme.  Lacheneur  had  been  reared  like  other  poor 
peasant  girls;  that  is  to  say,  on  the  day  of  her  mar- 
riage it  was  only  with  great  difficulty  she  succeeded 
in  inscribing  her  name  upon  the  register. 

But  from  the  example  of  her  husband  she  had 
learned  that  prosperity,  as  well  as  noblesse,  entails 
certain  obligations  upon  one,  and  with  rare  courage, 
crowned  with  still  rarer  success,  she  had  undertaken 
to  acquire  an  education  in  keeping  with  her  fortune 
and  her  new  rank. 

And  the  baroness  had  made  no  effort  to  resist  the 
sympathy  that  attracted  her  to  this  meritorious  young 
woman,  in  whom  she  had  discerned  a  really  superior 
mind  and  a  truly  refined  nature. 

When    Mme.    Lacheneur    died,    Mme.    d'Escorval 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  57 

mourned  for  her  as  she  would  have  mourned  for  a 
favorite  sister. 

From  that  moment  Maurice's  attachment  assumed 
a  more  serious  character. 

Educated  in  a  Parisian  lyceum,  his  teachers  some- 
times had  occasion  to  complain  of  his  want  of  appli- 
cation. 

"  If  your  professors  are  not  satisfied  with  you,"  said 
his  mother,  "  you  shall  not  accompany  me  to  Escorval 
on  the  coming  of  your  vacation,  and  you  will  not  see 
your  little  friend." 

And  this  simple  threat  was  always  sufficient  to  make 
the  school-boy  resume  his  studies  with  redoubled  dili- 
gence. 

So  each  year,  as  it  passed,  strengthened  the  grande 
passion  which  preserved  Maurice  from  the  restless- 
ness and  the  errors  of  adolescence. 

The  two  children  were  equally  timid  and  artless, 
and  equally  infatuated  with  each  other. 

Long  walks  in  the  twilight  under  the  eyes  of  their 
parents,  a  glance  that  revealed  their  delight  at  meet- 
ing each  other,  flowers  exchanged  between  them — 
which  were  religiously  preserved — such  were  their 
simple  pleasures. 

But  that  magical  and  sublime  word,  love — so  sweet 
to  utter,  and  so  sweet  to  hear — had  never  once  dropped 
from  their  lips. 

The  audacity  of  Maurice  had  never  gone  beyond  a 
furtive  pressure  of  the  hand. 

The  parents  could  not  be  ignorant  of  this  mutual 
affection ;  and  if  they  pretended  to  shut  their  eyes,  it 
was  only  because  it  did  not  displease  them  nor  disturb 
their  plans. 

M.  and  Mme.  d'Escorval  saw  no  objection  to  their 


58  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

son's  marriage  with  a  young  girl  whose  nobility  of 
character  they  appreciated,  and  who  was  as  beautiful 
as  she  was  good.  That  she  was  the  richest  heiress  in 
all  the  country  round  about  was  naturally  no  objection. 

So  far  as  M.  Lacheneur  was  concerned,  he  was  de- 
lighted at  the  prospect  of  a  marriage  which  would  ally 
him,  a  former  ploughboy,  with  an  old  family  whose 
head  was  universally  respected. 

So,  although  no  direct  allusion  to  the  subject  had 
ever  escaped  the  lips  of  the  baron  or  of  M.  Lacheneur, 
there  was  a  tacit  agreement  between  the  two  families. 

Yes,  the  marriage  was  considered  a  foregone  con- 
clusion. 

And  yet  this  impetuous  and  unexpected  declaration 
by  Maurice  struck  everyone  dumb. 

In  spite  of  his  agitation,  the  young  man  perceived 
the  effect  produced  by  his  words,  and  frightened  by 
his  own  boldness,  he  turned  and  looked  questioningly 
at  his  father. 

The  baron's  face  was  grave,  even  sad ;  but  his  atti- 
tude expressed  no  displeasure. 

This  gave  renewed  courage  to  the  anxious  lover. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  Monsieur,"  he  said,  address- 
ing Lacheneur,  "  for  presenting  my  request  in  such  a 
manner,  and  at  such  a  time.  But  surely,  when  fate 
glowers  ominously  upon  you,  that  is  the  time  when 
your  friends  should  declare  themselves — and  deem 
themselves  fortunate  if  their  devotion  can  make  you 
forget  the  infamous  treatment  to  which  you  have  been 
subjected." 

As  he  spoke,  he  was  watching  Marie-Anne. 

Blushing  and  embarrassed,  she  turned  away  her 
head,  perhaps  to  conceal  the  tears  which  inundated 
her  face — tears  of  joy  and  of  gratitude. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  59 

The  love  of  the  man  she  adored  came  forth  victori- 
ous from  a  test  which  it  would  not  be  prudent  for 
many  heiresses  to  impose. 

Now  she  could  truly  say  that  she  knew  Maurice's 
heart. 

He,  however,  continued : 

"  I  have  not  consulted  my  father,  sir ;  but  I  know 
his  affection  for  me  and  his  esteem  for  you.  When 
the  happiness  of  my  life  is  at  stake,  he  will  not  oppose 
me.  He,  who  married  my  dear  mother  without  a 
dowry,  must  understand  my  feelings." 

He  was  silent,  awaiting  the  verdict. 

"  I  approve  your  course,  my  son,"  said  M.  d'Escor- 
val,  deeply  affected ;  "  you  have  conducted  yourself 
like  an  honorable  man.  Certainly  you  are  very  young 
to  become  the  head  of  a  family;  but,  as  you  say,  cir- 
cumstances demand  it." 

He  turned  to  M.  Lacheneur,  and  added: 

"  My  dear  friend,  I,  in  my  son's  behalf,  ask  the  hand 
of  your  daughter  in  marriage." 

Maurice  had  not  expected  so  little  opposition. 

In  his  delight  he  was  almost  tempted  to  bless  the 
hateful  Due  de  Sairmeuse,  to  whom  he  would  owe 
his  approaching  happiness. 

He  sprang  toward  his  father,  and  seizing  his  hands, 
he  raised  them  to  his  lips,  faltering : 

"  Thanks  !  you  are  so  good  !  I  love  you  !  Oh, 
how  happy  I  am  !  " 

Alas !  the  poor  boy  was  in  too  much  haste  to  rejoice. 

A  gleam  of  pride  flashed  in  M.  Lacheneur's  eyes; 
but  his  face  soon  resumed  its  gloomy  expression. 

"  Believe  me,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  I  am  deeply 
touched  by  your  grandeur  of  soul — yes,  deeply  touched. 
You  wish  to  make  me  forget  my  humiliation ;  but,  for 


60  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

this  very  reason,  I  should  be  the  most  contemptible 
of  men  if  I  did  not  refuse  the  great  honor  you  desire 
to  confer  upon  my  daughter." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  the  baron,  in  utter  astonish- 
ment ;  "  you  refuse  ?  " 

"  I  am  compelled  to  do  so." 

Thunderstruck  at  first,  Maurice  afterward  renewed 
the  attack  with  an  energy  which  no  one  had  ever  sus- 
pected in  his  character  before. 

"Do  you,  then,  wish  to  ruin  my  life,  Monsieur?" 
he  exclaimed ;  "  to  ruin  our  life ;  for  if  I  love  Marie- 
Anne,  she  also  loves  me." 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  he  spoke  the  truth.  The 
unhappy  girl,  crimson  with  happy  blushes  the  moment 
before,  had  suddenly  become  whiter  than  marble,  as 
she  looked  imploringly  at  her  father. 

"  It  cannot  be,"  repeated  M.  Lacheneur ;  "  and  the 
day  will  come  when  you  will  bless  the  decision  I  make 
known  at  this  moment." 

Alarmed  by  her  son's  evident  agony,  Mme.  d'Es- 
corval  interposed : 

"  You  must  have  reasons  for  this  refusal." 

"  None  that  I  can  disclose,  Madame.  But  never 
while  I  live  shall  my  daughter  be  your  son's  wife !  " 

"  Ah  !  it  will  kill  my  child  !  "  exclaimed  the  baroness. 

M.  Lacheneur  shook  his  head. 

"  Monsieur  Maurice,"  said  he,  "  is  young ;  he  will 
console  himself — he  will  forget." 

"  Never ! "  interrupted  the  unhappy  lover — 
"never!" 

"And  your  daughter?"  inquired  the  baroness. 

Ah!  this  was  the  weak  spot  in  his  armor;  the  in- 
stinct of  a  mother  was  not  mistaken.  M.  Lacheneur 
hesitated  a  moment ;  but  he  finally  conquered  the 
weakness  that  had  threatened  to  master  him. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  61 

"  Marie-Anne,"  he  replied,  slowly,  "  knows  her  duty 
too  well  not  to  obey  when  I  command.  When  I  tell 
her  the  motive  that  governs  my  conduct,  she  will  be- 
come resigned ;  and  if  she  suffers,  she  will  know  how 
to  conceal  her  sufferings." 

He  paused  suddenly.  They  heard  in  the  distance 
a  firing  of  musketry,  the  discharge  of  rifles,  whose 
sharp  ring  overpowered  even  the  sullen  roar  of  can- 
non. 

Every  face  grew  pale.  Circumstances  imparted  to 
these  sounds  an  ominous  significance. 

With  the  same  anguish  clutching  the  hearts  of  both, 
M.  d'Escorval  and  Lacheneur  sprang  out  upon  the 
terrace. 

But  all  was  still  again.  Extended  as  was  the  hori- 
zon, the  eye  could  discern  nothing  unusual.  The  sky 
was  blue ;  not  a  particle  of  smoke  hung  over  the  trees. 

"  It  is  the  enemy,"  muttered  M.  Lacheneur,  in  a 
tone  which  told  how  gladly  he  would  have  shouldered 
his  gun,  and,  with  five  hundred  others,  marched 
against  the  united  allies. 

He  paused.  The  explosions  were  repeated  with  still 
greater  violence,  and  for  a  period  of  five  minutes  suc- 
ceeded each  other  without  cessation. 

M.  d'Escorval  listened  with  knitted  brows. 

"  That  is  not  the  fire  of  an  engagement,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

To  remain  long  in  such  a  state  of  uncertainty  was 
out  of  the  question. 

"  If  you  will  permit  me,  father,"  ventured  Maurice, 
"  I  will  go  and  ascertain " 

"  Go,"  replied  the  baron,  quietly ;  "  but  if  it  is  any- 
thing, which  I  doubt,  do  not  expose  yourself  to  dan- 
ger ;  return." 


62  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  Oh !  be  prudent !  "  insisted  Mme.  d'Escorval,  who 
already  saw  her  son  exposed  to  the  most  frightful 
peril. 

"  Be  prudent !  "  entreated  Marie-Anne,  who  alone 
understood  what  attractions  danger  might  have  for  a 
despairing  and  unhappy  man. 

These  precautions  were  unnecessary.  As  Maurice 
was  rushing  to  the  door,  his  father  stopped  him. 

"  Wait,"  said  he ;  "  here  is  someone  who  can  prob- 
ably give  us  information." 

A  man  had  just  appeared  around  a  turn  of  the  road 
leading  to  Sairmeuse. 

He  was  advancing  bareheaded  in  the  middle  of  the 
dusty  road,  with  hurried  strides,  and  occasionally 
brandishing  his  stick,  as  if  threatening  an  enemy  visi- 
ble to  himself  alone. 

Soon  they  were  able  to  distinguish  his  features. 

"  It  is  Chanlouineau !  "  exclaimed  M.  Lacheneur. 

"  The  owner  of  the  vineyards  on  the  Borderie  ?  " 

"  The  same !  The  handsomest  young  farmer  in  the 
country,  and  the  best  also.  Ah !  he  has  good  blood  in 
his  veins  ;  we  may  well  be  proud  of  him." 

"  Ask  him  to  stop,"  said  M.  d'Escorval. 

Lacheneur  leaned  over  the  balustrade,  and,  forming 
a  trumpet  out  of  his  two  hands,  he  called : 

"  Oh !  Chanlouineau !  " 

The  robust  young  farmer  raised  his  head. 

"  Come  up,"  shouted  Lacheneur ;  "  the  baron  wishes 
to  speak  with  you." 

Chanlouineau  responded  by  a  gesture  of  assent. 
They  saw  him  enter  the  gate,  cross  the  garden,  and  at 
last  appear  at  the  door  of  the  drawing-room. 

His  features,  were  distorted  with  fury,  his  disordered 
clothing  gave  evidence  of  a  serious  conflict.  His  era- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  63 

vat  was  gone,  and  his  torn  shirt-collar  revealed  his 
muscular  throat. 

"Where  is  this  fighting?"  demanded  Lacheneur 
eagerly ;  "  and  with  whom  ?  " 

Chanlouineau  gave  a  nervous  laugh  which  resem- 
bled a  roar  of  rage. 

"  They  are  not  fighting,"  he  replied ;  "  they  are 
amusing  themselves.  This  firing  which  you  hear  is  in 
honor  of  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Sairmeuse." 

"  Impossible !  " 

"  I  know  it  very  well ;  and  yet,  what  I  have  told  you 
is  the  truth.  It  is  the  work  of  that  miserable  wretch 
and  thief,  Chupin.  Ah,  canaille!  If  I  ever  find  him 
within  reach  of  my  arm  he  will  never  steal  again." 

M.  Lacheneur  was  confounded. 

"  Tell  us  what  has  happened,"  he  said,  excitedly. 

"  Oh,  it  is  as  clear  as  daylight.  When  the  duke 
arrived  at  Sairmeuse,  Chupin,  the  old  scoundrel,  with 
his  two  rascally  boys,  and  that  old  hag,  his  wife,  ran 
after  the  carriage  like  beggars  after  a  diligence,  crying, 
'  Vive  Monsieur  le  Due ! '  The  duke  was  enchanted, 
for  he  doubtless  expected  a  volley  of  stones,  and  he 
placed  a  six-franc  piece  in  the  hand  of  each  of  the 
wretches.  This  money  gave  Chupin  an  appetite  for 
more,  so  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  give  this  old  noble 
a  reception  like  that  which  was  given  to  the  Emperor. 
Having  learned  through  Bibiaine,  whose  tongue  is  as 
long  as  a  viper's,  all  that  has  passed  at  the  presbytery, 
between  you,  Monsieur  Lacheneur,  and  the  duke,  he 
came  and  proclaimed  it  in  the  market-place.  When 
they  heard  it,  all  who  had  purchased  national  lands 
were  frightened.  Chupin  had  counted  on  this,  and 
soon  he  began  telling  the  poor  fools  that  they  must 
burn  powder  under  the  duke's  nose  if  they  wished  him 
to  confirm  their  titles  to  their  property." 


64  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  And  did  they  believe  him  ?  " 

"  Implicitly.  It  did  not  take  them  long  to  make 
their  preparations.  They  went  to  the  town  hall  and 
took  the  firemen's  rifles,  and  the  guns  used  for  firing 
a  salute  on  fete  days ;  the  mayor  gave  them  the  pow- 
der, and  you  heard • 

"  When  I  left  Sairmeuse  there  were  more  than  two 
hundred  idiots  before  the  presbytery,  shouting : 

"  Vive  Monseigneur!     Vive  le  Due  de  Sairmeuse! " 

It  was  as  D'Escorval  had  thought. 

"  The  same  pitiful  farce  that  was  played  in  Paris, 
only  on  a  smaller  scale,"  he  murmured.  "  Avarice 
and  human  cowardice  are  the  same  the  world  over !  " 

Meanwhile,  Chanlouineau  was  going  on  with  his 
recital. 

"  To  make  the  fete  complete,  the  devil  must  have 
warned  all  the  nobility  in  the  neighborhood,  for  they 
all  came  running.  They  say  that  Monsieur  de  Sair- 
meuse is  a  favorite  with  the  King,  and  that  he  can  get 
anything  he  wishes.  So  you  can  imagine  how  they 
all  greeted  him !  I  am  only  a  poor  peasant,  but  never 
would  I  lie  down  in  the  dust  before  any  man  as  these 
old  nobles  who  are  so  haughty  with  us,  did  before  the 
duke.  They  kissed  his  hands,  and  he  allowed  them 
to  do  it.  He  walked  about  the  square  with  the  Mar- 
quis de  Courtornieu " 

"  And  his  son  ?  "  interrupted  Maurice. 

"  The  Marquis  Martial,  is  it  not  ?  He  is  also  walk- 
ing before  the  church  with  Mademoiselle  Blanche  de 
Courtornieu  upon  his  arm.  Ah !  I  do  not  understand 
how  people  can  call  her  pretty — a  little  bit  of  a  thing, 
so  blond  that  one  might  suppose  her  hair  was  gray. 
Ah !  how  those  two  laughed  and  made  fun  of  the  peas- 
ants. They  say  they  are  going  to  marry  each  other. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  65 

And  even  this  evening  there  is  to  be  a  banquet  at  the 
Chateau  de  Courtornieu  in  honor  of  the  duke." 

He  had  told  all  he  knew.     He  paused. 

"  You  have  forgotten  only  one  thing,"  said  M. 
Lacheneur ;  "  that  is,  to  tell  us  how  your  clothing 
happened  to  be  torn,  as  if  you  had  been  fighting." 

The  young  farmer  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  re- 
plied, somewhat  brusquely: 

"  I  can  tell  you,  all  the  same.  While  Chupin  was 
preaching,  I  also  preached,  but  not  in  the  same  strain. 
The  scoundrel  reported  me.  So,  in  crossing  the 
square,  the  duke  paused  before  me  and  remarked: 
'  So  you  are  an  evil-disposed  person  ?  '  I  said  no,  but 
that  I  knew  my  rights.  Then  he  took  me  by  the  coat 
and  shook  me,  and  told  me  that  he  would  cure  me,  and 
that  he  would  take  possession  of  his  vineyard  again. 
Saint  Dieu!  When  I  felt  the  old  rascal's  hand  upon 
me  my  blood  boiled.  I  pinioned  him.  Fortunately, 
six  or  seven  men  fell  upon  me,  and  compelled  me  to 
let  him  go.  But  he  had  better  make  up  his  mind  not 
to  come  prowling  around  my  vineyard !  " 

He  clinched  his  hands,  his  eyes  blazed  ominously, 
his  whole  person  breathed  an  intense  desire  for  ven- 
geance. 

And  M.  d'Escorval  was  silent,  fearing  to  aggravate 
this  hatred,  so  imprudently  kindled,  and  whose  explo- 
sion, he  believed,  would  be  terrible. 

M.  Lacheneur  had  risen  from  his  chair. 

"  I  must  go  and  take  possession  of  my  cottage,"  he 
remarked  to  Chanlouineau  ;  "  you  will  accompany  me  ; 
I  have  a  proposition  to  make  to  you." 

M.  and  Mme.  d'Escorval  endeavored  to  detain  him, 
but  he  would  not  allow  himself  to  be  persuaded,  and 
he  departed  with  his  daughter. 
5 


66  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

But  Maurice  did  not  despair;  Marie- Anne  had 
promised  to  meet  him  the  following  day  in  the  pine- 
grove  near  the  Reche. 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  demonstrations  which  had  greeted  the  Due 
de  Sairmeuse  had  been  correctly  reported  by  Chan- 
louineau. 

Chupin  had  found  the  secret  of  kindling  to  a  white 
heat  the  enthusiasm  of  the  cold  and  calculating  peas- 
ants who  were  his  neighbors. 

He  was  a  dangerous  rascal,  the  old  robber,  shrewd 
and  cautious ;  bold,  as  those  who  possess  nothing  can 
afford  to  be  ;  as  patient  as  a  savage  ;  in  short,  one  of  the 
most  consummate  scoundrels  that  ever  existed. 

The  peasants  feared  him,  and  yet  they  had  no  con- 
ception of  his  real  character. 

All  his  resources  of  mind  had,  until  now,  been  ex- 
pended in  evading  the  precipice  of  the  rural  code. 

To  save  himself  from  falling  into  the  hands  of  the 
gendarmes,  and  to  steal  a  few  sacks  of  wheat,  he  had 
expended  treasures  of  intrigue  which  would  have  made 
the  fortunes  of  twenty  diplomats. 

Circumstances,  as  he  always  said,  had  been  against 
him. 

So  he  desperately  caught  at  the  first  and  only  oppor- 
tunity worthy  of  his  talent,  which  had  ever  presented 
itself. 

Of  course,  the  wily  rustic  had  said  nothing  of  the 
true  circumstances  which  attended  the  restoration  of 
Sairmeuse  to  its  former  owner. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  67 

From  him,  the  peasants  learned  only  the  bare  fact ; 
and  the  news  spread  rapidly  from  group  to  group. 

"  Monsieur  Lacheneur  has  given  up  Sairmeuse," 
said  he.  "  Chateau,  forests,  vineyards,  fields — he  sur- 
renders everything." 

This  was  enough,  and  more  than  enough  to  terrify 
every  land-owner  in  the  village. 

If  Lacheneur,  this  man  who  was  so  powerful  in  their 
eyes,  considered  the  danger  so  threatening  that  he 
deemed  it  necessary  or  advisable  to  make  a  complete 
surrender,  what  was  to  become  of  them — poor  devils — 
without  aid,  without  counsel,  without  defence? 

They  were  told  that  the  government  was  about  to 
betray  their  interests ;  that  a  decree  was  in  process  of 
preparation  which  would  render  their  title-deeds 
worthless.  They  could  see  no  hope  of  salvation,  ex- 
cept through  the  duke's  generosity — that  generosity 
which  Chupin  painted  with  the  glowing  colors  of  the 
rainbow. 

When  one  is  not  strong  enough  to  weather  the  gale, 
one  must  bow  like  the  reed  before  it  and  rise  again 
after  the  storm  has  passed ;  such  was  their  conclusion. 

And  they  bowed.  And  their  apparent  enthusiasm 
was  all  the  more  vociferous  on  account  of  the  rage 
and  fear  that  filled  their  hearts. 

A  close  observer  would  have  detected  an  undercur- 
rent of  anger  and  menace  in  their  shouts. 

Each  man  also  said  to  himself: 

"  What  do  we  risk  by  crying,  '  Vive  le  Due  ? ' 
Nothing ;  absolutely  nothing.  If  he  is  contented  with 
that  as  a  compensation  for  his  lost  property — good! 
If  he  is  not  content,  we  shall  have  time  afterward  to 
adopt  other  measures." 

So  they  shouted  themselves  hoarse, 


68    THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME' 

And  while  the  duke  was  sipping  his  coffee  in  the  lit- 
tle drawing-room  of  the  presbytery,  he' expressed  his 
lively  satisfaction  at  the  scene  without. 

He,  this  grand  seigneur  of  times  gone  by,  this  man 
of  absurd  prejudices  and  obstinate  illusions ;  the  un- 
conquerable, and  the  incorrigible — he  took  these  ac- 
clamations, "  truly  spurious  coin,"  as  Chateaubriand 
says,  for  ready  money. 

"  How  you  have  deceived  me,  sure,"  he  was  saying 
to  Abbe  Midon.  "  How  could  you  declare  that  your 
people  were  unfavorably  disposed  toward  us  ?  One  is 
compelled  to  believe  that  these  evil  intentions  exist 
only  in  your  own  mind  and  in  your  own  heart." 

Abbe  Midon  was  silent.     What  could  he  reply? 

He  could  not  understand  this  sudden  revolution  in 
public  opinion — this  abrupt  change  from  gloom  and 
discontent  to  excessive  gayety. 

There  is  somebody  at  the  bottom  of  all  this,  he 
thought. 

It  was  not  long  before  it  became  apparent  who  that 
somebody  was. 

Emboldened  by  his  success  without,  Chupin  vent- 
ured to  present  himself  at  the  presbytery. 

He  entered  the  drawing-room  with  his  back  round- 
ed into  a  circle,  scraping  and  cringing,  an  obsequious 
smile  upon  his  lips. 

And  through  the  half-open  door  one  could  discern, 
in  the  shadows  of  the  passage,  the  far  from  reassur- 
ing faces  of  his  two  sons. 

He  came  as  an  ambassador,  he  declared,  after  an 
interminable  litany  of  protestations — he  came  to  im- 
plore "  monseigneur  "  to  show  himself  upon  the  pub- 
lic square. 

"  Ah,  well — yes,"  exclaimed  the  duke,  rising ;  "  yes, 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  69 

I  will  yield  to  the  wishes  of  these  good  people.  Fol- 
low me,  Marquis !  " 

As  he  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  presbytery,  a  loud 
shout  rent  the  air ;  the  rifles  were  discharged,  the  guns 
belched  forth  their  smoke  and  fire.  Never  had  Sair- 
meuse  heard  such  a  salvo  of  artillery.  Three  windows 
in  the  Boef  Couronne  were  shattered. 

A  veritable  grand  seigneur,  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse 
knew  how  to  preserve  an  appearance  of  haughtiness 
and  indifference.  Any  display  of  emotion  was,  in  his 
opinion,  vulgar;  but,  in  reality,  he  was  delighted, 
charmed. 

So  delighted  that  he  desired  to  reward  his  wel- 
comers. 

A  glance  over  the  deeds  handed  him  by  Lacheneur 
had  shown  him  that  Sairmeuse  had  been  restored  to 
him  intact. 

The  portions  of  the  immense  domain  which  had 
been  detached  and  sold  separately  were  of  relatively 
minor  importance. 

The  duke  thought  it  would  be  politic,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  inexpensive,  to  abandon  all  claim  to  these 
few  acres,  which  were  now  shared  by  forty  or  fifty 
peasants. 

"  My  friends,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  loud  voice,  "  I 
renounce,  for  myself  and  for  my  descendants,  all  claim 
to  the  lands  belonging  to  my  house  which  you  have 
purchased.  They  are  yours — I  give  them  to  you !  " 

By  this  absurd  pretence  of  a  gift,  M.  de  Sairmeuse 
thought  to  add  the  finishing  touch  to  his  popularity. 
A  great  mistake !  It  simply  assured  the  popularity 
of  Chupin,  the  organizer  of  the  farce. 

And  while  the  duke  was  promenading  through  the 
crowd  with  a  proud  and  self-satisfied  air,  the  peasants 
were  secretly  laughing  and  jeering  at  him. 


70          THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

And  if  they  promptly  took  sides  with  him  against 
Chanlouineau,  it  was  only  because  his  gift  was  still 
fresh  in  their  minds;  except  for  this 

But  the  duke  had  not  time  to  think  much  about  this 
encounter,  which  produced  a  vivid  impression  upon 
his  son. 

One  of  his  former  companions  in  exile,  the  Marquis 
de  Courtornieu,  whom  he  had  informed  of  his  arrival, 
hastened  to  welcome  him,  accompanied  by  his  daugh- 
ter, Mile.  Blanche. 

Martial  could  do  no  less  than  offer  his  arm  to  the 
daughter  of  his  father's  friend;  and  they  took  a  lei- 
surely promenade  in  the  shade  of  the  lofty  trees,  while 
the  duke  renewed  his  acquaintance  with  all  the  nobility 
of  the  neighborhood. 

There  was  not  a  single  nobleman  who  did  not  hast- 
en to  press  the  hand  of  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse.  First, 
he  possessed,  it  was  said,  a  property  of  more  than 
twenty  millions  in  England.  Then,  he  was  the  friend 
of  the  King,  and  each  neighbor  had  some  favor  to  ask 
for  himself,  for  his  relatives,  or  for  his  friends. 

Poor  king!  He  should  have  had  entire  France  to 
divide  like  a  cake  between  these  cormorants,  whose 
voracious  appetites  it  was  impossible  to  satisfy. 

That  evening,  after  a  grand  banquet  at  the  Chateau 
de  Courtornieu,  the  duke  slept  in  the  Chateau  de  Sair- 
meuse, in  the  room  which  had  been  occupied  by  La- 
cheneur,  "  like  Louis  XVIII.,"  he  laughingly  said,  "  in 
the  chamber  of  Bonaparte." 

He  was  gay,  chatty,  and  full  of  confidence  in  the 
future. 

"  Ah !  it  is  good  to  be  in  one's  own  house !  "  he  re- 
marked to  his  son  again  and  again. 

But    Martial    responded    only    mechanically.      His 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  71 

mind  was  occupied  with  thoughts  of  two  women  who 
had  made  a  profound  impression  upon  his  by  no  means 
susceptible  heart  that  day.  He  was  thinking  of  those 
two  young  girls,  so  utterly  unlike. 

Blanche  de  Courtornieu — Marie-Anne  Lacheneur. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Only  those  who,  in  the  bright  springtime  of  life, 
have  loved,  have  been  loved  in  return,  and  have  sud- 
denly seen  an  impassable  gulf  open  between  them  and 
happiness,  can  realize  Maurice  d'Escorval's  disappoint- 
ment. 

All  the  dreams  of  his  life,  all  his  future  plans,  were 
based  upon  his  love  for  Marie-Anne. 

If  this  love  failed  him,  the  enchanted  castle  which 
hope  had  erected  would  crumble  and  fall,  burying  him 
in  the  ruins. 

Without  Marie- Anne  he  saw  neither  aim  nor  motive 
in  his  existence.  Still  he  did  not  suffer  himself  to  be 
deluded  by  false  hopes.  Although  at  first,  his  ap- 
pointed meeting  with  Marie-Anne  on  the  following 
cay  seemed  salvation  itself,  on  reflection  he  was  forced 
to  admit  that  this  interview  would  change  nothing, 
since  everything  depended  upon  the  will  of  another 
party — the  will  of  M.  Lacheneur. 

The  remainder  of  the  day  he  passed  in  mournful 
silence.  The  dinner-hour  came ;  he  took  his  seat  at 
the  table,  but  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  swallow 
a  morsel,  and  he  soon  requested  his  parents'  permis- 
sion to  withdraw. 

M.  d'Escorval  and  the  baroness  exchanged  a  sor- 
rowful glance,  but  did  not  allow  themselves  to  offer 
any  comment. 


72          THE   HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

They  respected  his  grief.  They  knew  that  his  was 
one  of  those  sorrows  which  are  only  aggravated  by 
any  attempt  at  consolation. 

"  Poor  Maurice  !  "  murmured  Mme.  d'Escorval, 
as  soon  as  her  son  had  left  the  room.  And,  as  her 
husband  made  no  reply :  "  Perhaps,"  she  added,  hesi- 
tatingly, "  perhaps  it  will  not  be  prudent  for  us  to  leave 
him  too  entirely  to  the  dictates  of  his  despair." 

The  baron  shuddered.  He  divined  only  too  well 
the  terrible  apprehensions  of  his  wife. 

"  We  have  nothing  to  fear,"  he  replied,  quickly ;  "  I 
heard  Marie-Anne  promise  to  meet  Maurice  to-mor- 
row in  the  grove  on  the  Reche." 

The  anxious  mother  breathed  more  freely.  Her 
blood  had  frozen  with  horror  at  the  thought  that  her 
son  might,  perhaps,  be  contemplating  suicide ;  but  she 
was  a  mother,  and  her  husband's  assurances  did  not 
satisfy  her. 

She  hastily  ascended  the  stairs  leading  to  her  son's 
room,  softly  opened  the  door,  and  looked  in.  He  was 
so  engrossed  in  his  gloomy  revery  that  he  had  heard 
nothing,  and  did  not  even  suspect  the  presence  of  the 
anxious  mother  who  was  watching  over  him. 

He  was  sitting  at  the  window,  his  elbows  resting 
upon  the  sill,  his  head  supported  by  his  hands,  looking 
out  into  the  night. 

There  was  no  moon,  but  the  night  was  clear,  and 
over  beyond  the  light  fog  that  indicated  the  course  of 
the  Giselle  one  could  discern  the  imposing  mass  of  the 
Chateau  de  Sairmeuse,  with  its  towers  and  fanciful 
turrets. 

More  than  once  he  had  sat  thus  silently  gazing  at 
this  chateau,  which  sheltered  what  was  dearest  and 
most  precious  in  all  the  world'to  him. 


THE   HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  73 

From  his  windows  he  could  see  those  of  the  room 
occupied  by  Marie- Anne ;  and  his  heart  always  quick- 
ened its  throbbing  when  he  saw  them  illuminated. 

"  She  is  there,"  he  thought,  "  in  her  virgin  chamber. 
She  is  kneeling  to  say  her  prayers.  She  murmurs  my 
name  after  that  of  her  father,  imploring  God's  bless- 
ing upon  us  both." 

But  this  evening  he  was  not  waiting  for  a  light  to 
gleam  through  the  panes  of  that  dear  window. 

Marie-Anne  was  no  longer  at  Sairmeuse — she  had 
been  driven  away. 

Where  was  she  now?  She,  accustomed  to  all  the 
luxury  that  wealth  could  procure,  no  longer  had  any 
home  except  a  poor  thatch-covered  hovel,  whose  walls 
were  not  even  whitewashed,  whose  only  floor  was  the 
earth  itself,  dusty  as  the  public  highway  in  summer, 
frozen  or  muddy  in  winter. 

She  was  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  occupying  her- 
self the  humble  abode  she,  in  her  charitable. heart,  had 
intended  as  an  asylum  for  one  of  her  pensioners. 

What  was  she  doing  now?  Doubtless  she  was 
weeping. 

At  this  thought  poor  Maurice  was  heartbroken. 

What  was  his  surprise,  a  little  after  midnight,  to 
see  the  chateau  brilliantly  illuminated. 

The  duke  and  his  son  had  repaired  to  the  chateau 
after  the  banquet  given  by  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu 
was  over ;  and,  before  going  to  bed,  they  made  a  tour 
of  .inspection  through  this  magnificent  abode  in  which 
their  ancestors  had  lived.  They,  therefore,  might  be 
said  to  have  taken  possession  of  the  mansion  whose 
threshold  M.  de  Sairmeuse  had  not  crossed  for  twenty- 
two  years,  and  which  Martial  had  never  seen. 

Maurice  saw  the  lights  leap  from  story  to  story,  from 


74          THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

casement  to  casement,  until  at  last  even  the  windows 
of  Marie-Anne's  room  were  illuminated. 

At  this  sight  the  unhappy  youth  could  not  restrain 
a  cry  of  rage. 

These  men,  these  strangers,  dared  enter  this  virgin 
bower,  which  he,  even  in  thought,  scarcely  dared  to 
penetrate. 

They  trampled  carelessly  over  the  delicate  carpet 
with  their  heavy  boots.  Maurice  trembled  in  think- 
ing of  the  liberties  which  they,  in  their  insolent  famil- 
iarity, might  venture  upon.  He  fancied  he  could  see 
them  examining  and  handling  the  thousand  petty 
trifles  with  which  young  girls  love  to  surround  them- 
selves ;  they  opened  the  presses,  perhaps  they  were 
reading  an  unfinished  letter  lying  upon  her  writing- 
desk. 

Never  until  this  evening  had  Martial  supposed  he 
could  hate  another  as  he  hated  these  men. 

At  last,  in  despair,  he  threw  himself  upon  his  bed, 
and  passed  the  remainder  of  the  night  in  thinking  over 
what  he  should  say  to  Marie-Anne  on  the  morrow, 
and  in  seeking  some  issue  from  this  inextricable  laby- 
rinth. 

He  rose  before  daybreak,  and  wandered  about  the 
park  like  a  soul  in  distress,  fearing,  yet  longing,  for 
the  hour  that  would  decide  his  fate.  Mme.  d'Escor- 
val  was  obliged  to  exert  all  her  authority  to  make  him 
take  some  nourishment.  He  had  quite  forgotten  that 
he  had  passed  twenty-four  hours  without  eating. 

When  eleven  o'clock  sounded  he  left  the  house. 

The  lands  of  the  Reche  are  situated  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Oiselle.  Maurice,  to  reach  his  destination, 
was  obliged  to  cross  the  river  at  a  ferry  only  a  short 
distance  from  his  home.  When  he  reached  the  river- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  75 

bank  he  found  six  or  seven  peasants  who  were  wait- 
ing to  cross. 

These  people  did  not  observe  Maurice.  They  were 
talking  earnestly,  and  he  listened. 

"  It  is  certainly  true,"  said  one  of  the  men.  "  I 
heard  it  from  Chanlouineau  himself  only  last  evening. 
He  was  wild  with  delight.  '  I  invite  you  all  to  the 
wedding  ! '  he  cried.  '  I  am  betrothed  to  Monsieur 
Lacheneur's  daughter ;  the  affair  is  decided.' ' 

This  astounding  news  positively  stunned  Maurice. 
He  was  actually  unable  to  think  or  to  move. 

"  Besides,  he  has  been  in  love  with  her  for  a  long 
time.  Everyone  knows  that.  One  had  only  to  see  his 
eyes  when  he  met  her — coals  of  fire  were  nothing  to 
them.  But  while  her  father  was  so  rich  he  did  not 
dare  to  speak.  Now  that  the  old  man  has  met  with 
these  reverses,  he  ventures  to  offer  himself,  and  is  ac- 
cepted." 

"  An  unfortunate  thing  for  him,"  remarked  a  little 
old  man. 

"Why  so?" 

"  If  Monsieur  Lacheneur  is  ruined,  as  they  say " 

The  others  laughed  heartily. 

"  Ruined — Monsieur  Lacheneur !  "  they  exclaimed 
in  chorus.  "  How  absurd !  He  is  richer  than  all  of 
us  together.  Do  you  suppose  that  he  has  been  stupid 
enough  not  to  have  laid  anything  aside  during  all  these 
years?  He  has  put  this  money  not  in  grounds,  as  he 
pretends,  but  somewhere  else." 

"  You  are  saying  what  is  untrue !  "  interrupted  Mau- 
rice, indignantly.  "  Monsieur  Lacheneur  left  Sair- 
meuse  as  poor  as  he  entered  it." 

On  recognizing  M.  d'Escorval's  son,  the  peasants 
became  extremely  cautious.  He  questioned  them,  but 


76          THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

could  obtain  only  vague  and  unsatisfactory  answers. 
A  peasant,  when  interrogated,  will  never  give  a  re- 
sponse which  he  thinks  will  be  displeasing  to  his  ques- 
tioner ;  he  is  afraid  of  compromising  himself. 

The  news  he  had  heard,  however,  caused  Maurice  to 
hasten  on  still  more  rapidly  after  crossing  the  Oiselle. 

"  Marie-Anne  marry  Chanlouineau !  "  he  repeated ; 
"  it  is  impossible !  it  is  impossible !  " 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  Reche,  literally  translated  the  "  Waste,"  where 
Marie-Anne  had  promised  to  meet  Maurice,  owed  its 
name  to  the  rebellious  and  sterile  character  of  the  soil. 

Nature  seemed  to  have  laid  her  curse  upon  it.  Noth- 
ing would  grow  there.  The  ground  was  covered  with 
stones,  and  the  sandy  soil  defied  all  attempts  to  en- 
rich it. 

A  few  stunted  oaks  rose  here  and  there  above  the 
thorns  and  broom-plant. 

But  on  the  lowlands  of  the  Reche  is  a  flourishing 
grove.  The  firs  are  straight  and  strong,  for  the  floods 
of  winter  have  deposited  in  some  of  the  clifts  of  the 
rock  sufficient  soil  to  sustain  them  and  the  wild  clema- 
tis and  honeysuckle  that  cling  to  their  branches. 

On  reaching  this  grove,  Maurice  consulted  his 
watch.  It  marked  the  hour  of  mid-day.  He  had  sup- 
posed that  he  was  late,  but  he  was  more  than  an  hour 
in  advance  of  the  appointed  time. 

He  seated  himself  upon  a  high  rock,  from  which  he 
could  survey  the  entire  Reche,  and  waited. 

The  day  was  magnificent ;  the  air  intensely  hot. 
The  rays  of  the  August  sun  fell  with  scorching  vio- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  77 

lence  upon  the  sandy  soil,  and  withered  the  few  plants 
which  had  sprung  up  since  the  last  rain. 

The  stillness  was  profound,  almost  terrible.  Not  a 
sound  broke  the  silence,  not  even  the  buzzing  of  an  in- 
sect, nor  a  whisper  of  breeze  in  the  trees.  All  nature 
seemed  sleeping.  And  on  no  side  was  there  anything 
to  remind  one  of  life,  motion,  or  mankind. 

This  repose  of  nature,  which  contrasted  so  vividly 
with  the  tumult  raging  in  his  own  heart,  exerted  a 
beneficial  effect  upon  Maurice.  These  few  moments 
of  solitude  afforded  him  an  opportunity  to  regain  his 
composure,  to  collect  his  thoughts  scattered  by  the 
storm  of  passion  which  had  swept  over  his  soul,  as 
leaves  are  scattered  by  the  fierce  November  gale. 

With  sorrow  comes  experience,  and  that  cruel 
knowledge  of  life  which  teaches  one  to  guard  one's 
self  against  one's  hopes. 

It  was  not  until  he  heard  the  conversation  of  these 
peasants  that  Maurice  fully  realized  the  horror  of 
Lacheneur's  position.  Suddenly  precipitated  from  the 
social  eminence  which  he  had  attained,  he  found,  in 
the  valley  of  humiliations  into  which  he  was  cast, 
only  hatred,  distrust,  and  scorn.  Both  factions  de- 
spised and  denied  him.  Traitor,  cried  one ;  thief,  cried 
the  other.  He  no  longer  held  any  social  status.  He 
was  the  fallen  man,  the  man  who  had  been,  and  who 
was  no  more. 

Was  not  the  excessive  misery  of  such  a  position  a 
sufficient  explanation  of  the  strangest  and  wildest 
resolutions  ? 

This  thought  made  Maurice  tremble.  Connecting 
the  stories  of  the  peasants  with  the  words  addressed 
to  Chanlouineau  at  Escorval  by  M.  Lacheneur  on  the 
preceding  evening,  he  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that 


78          THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

this  report  of  Marie-Anne's  approaching  marriage  to 
the  young  farmer  was  not  so  improbable  as  he  had  at 
first  supposed. 

But  why  should  M.  Lacheneur  give  his  daughter  to 
an  uncultured  peasant?  From  mercenary  motives? 
Certainly  not,  since  he  had  just  refused  an  alliance  of 
which  he  had  been  proud  in  his  days  of  prosperity. 
Could  it  be  in  order  to  satisfy  his  wounded  pride,  then  ? 
Perhaps  he  did  not  wish  it  to  be  said  that  he  owed 
anything  to  a  son-in-law. 

Maurice  was  exhausting  all  his  ingenuity  and  pene- 
tration in  endeavoring  to  solve  this  mystery,  when  at 
last,  on  a  foot-path  which  crosses  the  waste,  a  woman 
appeared — Marie- Anne. 

He  rose,  but  fearing  observation,  did  not  venture  to 
leave  the  shelter  of  the  grove. 

Marie-Anne  must  have  felt  a  similar  fear,  for  she 
hurried  on,  casting  anxious  glances  on  every  side  as 
she  ran.  Maurice  remarked,  not  without  surprise,  that 
she  was  bare-headed,  and  that  she  had  neither  shawl 
nor  scarf  about  her  shoulders. 

As  she  reached  the  edge  of  the  wood,  he  sprang 
toward  her,  and  catching  her  hand  raised  it  to  his 
lips. 

But  this  hand,  which  she  had  so  often  yielded  to 
him,  was  now  gently  withdrawn,  with  so  sad  a  gesture 
that  he  could  not  help  feeling  there  was  no  hope. 

"  I  came,  Maurice,"  she  began,  "  because  I  could 
not  endure  the  thought  of  your  anxiety.  By  doing  so 
I  have  betrayed  my  father's  confidence — he  was  obliged 
to  leave  home.  I  hastened  here.  And  yet  I  promised 
him,  only  two  hours  ago,  that  I  would  never  see  you 
again.  You  hear  me — never !  " 

She  spoke  hurriedly,  but  Maurice  was  appalled  by 
the  firmness  of  her  accent. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  79 

Had  he  been  less  agitated,  he  would  have  seen  what 
a  terrible  effort  this  semblance  of  calmness  cost  the 
young  girl.  He  would  have  understood  it  from  her 
pallor,  from  the  contraction  of  her  lips,  from  the  red- 
ness of  the  eyelids  which  she  had  vainly  bathed  with 
fresh  water,  and  which  betrayed  the  tears  that  had 
fallen  during  the  night. 

"  If  I  have  come,"  she  continued,  "  it  is  only  to  tell 
you  that,  for  your  own  sake,  as  well  as  for  mine,  there 
must  not  remain  in  the  secret  recesses  of  your  heart 
even  the  slightest  shadow  of  a  hope.  All  is  over;  we 
are  separated  forever!  Only  weak  natures  revolt 
against  a  destiny  which  they  cannot  alter.  Let  us  ac- 
cept our  fate  uncomplainingly.  I  wished  to  see  you 
once  more,  and  to  say  this:  Have  courage,  Maurice. 
Go  away — leave  Escorval — forget  me  !  " 

"  Forget  you,  Marie-Anne !  "  exclaimed  the  wretch- 
ed young  man,  "  forget  you !  " 

His  eyes  met  hers,  and  in  a  husky  voice  he  added : 

"  Will  you  then  forget  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  woman,  Maurice " 

But  he  interrupted  her: 

"  Ah !  I  did  not  expect  this,"  he  said,  despondently. 
"  Poor  fool  that  I  was !  I  believed  that  you  would  find 
a  way  to  touch  your  father's  heart." 

She  blushed  slightly,  hesitated,  and  said : 

"  I  have  thrown  myself  at  my  father's  feet ;  he  re- 
pulsed me." 

Maurice  was  thunderstruck,  but  recovering  himself : 

"  It  was  because  you  did  not  know  how  to  speak  to 
him !  "  he  exclaimed  in  a  passion  of  fury ;  "  but  I  shall 
know — I  will  present  such  arguments  that  he  will  be 
forced  to  yield.  What  right  has  he  to  ruin  my  happi- 
ness with  his  caprices?  I  love  you — by  right  of  this 


8o  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

love,  you  are  mine — mine  rather  than  his !  I  will 
make  him  understand  this,  you  shall  see.  Where  is 
he  ?  Where  can  I  find  him  ?  " 

Already  he  was  starting  to  go,  he  knew  not  where. 
Marie-Anne  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Remain,"  she  commanded,  "  remain !  So  you 
have  failed  to  understand  me,  Maurice.  Ah,  well !  you 
must  know  the  truth.  I  am  acquainted  now  with  the 
reasons  of  my  father's  refusal ;  and  though  his  de- 
cision should  cost  me  my  life,  I  approve  it.  Do  not 
go  to  find  my  father.  If,  moved  by  your  prayers,  he 
gave  his  consent,  I  should  have  the  courage  to  refuse 
mine!" 

Maurice  was  so  beside  himself  that  this  reply  did  not 
enlighten  him.  Crazed  with  anger  and  despair,  and 
with  no  remorse  for  the  insult  he  addressed  to  this 
woman  whom  he  loved  so  deeply,  he  exclaimed : 

"  Is  it  for  Chanlouineau,  then,  that  you  are  reserving 
your  consent?  He  believes  so  since  he  goes  about 
everywhere  saying  that  you  will  soon  be  his  wife." 

Marie- Anne  shuddered  as  if  a  knife  had  entered  hef 
very  heart ;  and  yet  there  was  more  sorrow  than  anger 
in  the  glance  she  cast  upon  Maurice. 

"  Must  I  stoop  so  low  as  to  defend  myself  from  such 
an  imputation  ?  "  she  asked,  sadly.  "  Must  I  declare 
that  if  even  I  suspect  such  an  arrangement  between 
Chanlouineau  and  my  father,  I  have  not  been  consult- 
ed? Must  I  tell  you  that  there  are  some  sacrifices 
which  are  beyond  the  strength  of  poor  human  nature? 
Understand  this :  I  have  found  strength  to  renounce 
the  man  I  love — I  shall  never  be  able  to  accept  another 
in  his  place !  " 

Maurice  hung  his  head,  abashed  by  her  earnest 
words,  dazzled  by  the  sublime  expression  of  her  face. 


THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME  81 

Reason  returned;  he  realized  the  enormity  of  his 
suspicions,  and  was  horrified  with  himself  for  having 
dared  to  give  utterance  to  them. 

"  Oh  !  pardon  !  "  he  faltered,  "  pardon !  " 

What  did  the  mysterious  causes  of  all  these  events 
which  had  so  rapidly  succeeded  each  other,  or  M. 
Lacheneur's  secrets,  or  Marie-Anne's  reticence,  mat- 
ter to  him  now  ? 

He  was  seeking  some  chance  of  salvation;  he  be- 
lieved that  he  had  found  it. 

"  We  must  fly  !  "  he  exclaimed :  "  fly  at  once  with- 
out pausing  to  look  back.  Before  night  we  shall  have 
passed  the  frontier." 

He  sprang  toward  her  with  outstretched  arms,  as  if 
to  seize  her  and  bear  her  away ;  but  she  checked  him 
by  a  single  look. 

"  Fly  !  "  said  she,  reproachfully :  "  fly  !  and  is  it 
you,  Maurice,  who  counsel  me  thus?  What!  while 
misfortune  is  crushing  my  poor  father  to  the  earth, 
shall  I  add  despair  and  shame  to  his  sorrows?  His 
friends  have  deserted  him ;  shall  I,  his  daughter,  also 
abandon  him  ?  Ah !  if  I  did  that,  I  should  be  the 
vilest,  the  most  cowardly  of  creatures !  If  my  father, 
yesterday,  when  I  believed  him  the  owner  of  Sairmeuse, 
had  demanded  the  sacrifice  to  which  I  consented  last 
evening,  I  might,  perhaps,  have  resolved  upon  the  ex- 
treme measure  you  have  counselled.  In  broad  day- 
light I  might  have  left  Sairmeuse  on  the  arm  of  my 
lover.  It  is  not  the  world  that  I  fear!  But  if  one 
might  consent  to  fly  from  the  chateau  of  a  rich  and 
happy  father,  one  cannot  consent  to  desert  the  poor 
abode  of  a  despairing  and  penniless  parent.  Leave 
me,  Maurice,  where  honor  holds  me.  It  will  not  be 
difficult  for  me,  who  am  the  daughter  of  generations  of 
6 


8a  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

peasants,  to  become  a  peasant.  Go  !  I  cannot  endure 
more !  Go !  and  remember  that  one  cannot  be  utterly 
wretched  if  one's  conscience  is  clean,  and  one's  duty 
fulfilled !  " 

Maurice  was  about  to  reply,  when  a  crackling  of  dry 
branches  made  him  turn  his  head. 

Scarcely  ten  paces  off,  Martial  de  Sairmeuse  was 
standing  motionless,  leaning  upon  his  gun. 


CHAPTER    X 

The  Due  de  Sairmeuse  had  slept  little  and  poorly 
on  the  night  following  his  return,  or  his  restoration,  as 
he  styled  it. 

Inaccessible,  as  he  pretended  to  be,  to  the  emotions 
which  agitate  the  common  herd,  the  scenes  of  the  day 
had  greatly  excited  him. 

He  could  not  help  reviewing  them,  although  he 
made  it  the  rule  of  his  life  never  to  reflect. 

While  exposed  to  the  scrutiny  of  the  peasants  and 
of  his  acquaintances  at  the  Chateau  de  Courtornieu,  he 
felt  that  his  honor  required  him  to  appear  cold  and  in- 
different, but  as  soon  as  he  had  retired  to  the  privacy 
of  his  own  chamber,  he  gave  free  vent  to  his  excessive 
joy. 

For  his  joy  was  intense,  almost  verging  on  delirium. 

Now  he  was  forced  to  admit  to  himself  the  immense 
service  Lacheneur  had  rendered  him  in  restoring  Sair- 
meuse. 

This  poor  man  to  whom  he  had  displayed  the  black- 
est ingratitude,  this  man,  honest  to  heroism,  whom  he 
had  treated  as  an  unfaithful  servant,  had  just  relieved 
him  of  an  anxiety  which  had  poisoned  his  life. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  83 

Lacheneur  had  just  placed  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse 
beyond  the  reach  of  a  not  probable,  but  very  possible 
calamity  which  he  had  dreaded  for  some  time. 

If  his  secret  anxiety  had  been  made  known,  it  would 
have  created  much  merriment. 

"  Nonsense !  "  people  would  have  exclaimed,  "  ev- 
eryone knows  that  the  Sairmeuse  possesses  property  to 
the  amount  of  at  least  eight  or  ten  millions,  in  Eng- 
land." 

This  was  true.  Only  these  millions,  which  had  ac- 
crued from  the  estate  of  the  duchess  and  of  Lord  Hol- 
land, had  not  been  bequeathed  to  the  duke. 

He  enjoyed  absolute  control  of  this  enormous  fort- 
une; he  disposed  of  the  capital  and  of  the  immense 
revenues  to  please  himself;  but  it  all  belonged  to  his 
son — to  his  only  son. 

The  duke  possessed  nothing — a  pitiful  income  of 
twelve  hundred  francs,  perhaps  ;  but,  strictly  speaking, 
not  even  the  means  of  subsistence. 

Martial,  certainly,  had  never  said  a  word  which 
would  lead  him  to  suspect  that  he  had  any  intention  of 
removing  his  property  from  his  father's  control ;  but 
he  might  possibly  utter  this  word. 

Had  he  not  good  reason  to  believe  that  sooner  or 
later  this  fatal  word  would  be  uttered  ? 

And  even  at  the  thought  of  such  a  contingency  he 
shuddered  with  horror. 

He  saw  himself  reduced  to  a  pension,  a  very  hand- 
some pension,  undoubtedly,  but  still  a  fixed,  immut- 
able, regular  pension,  by  which  he  would  be  obliged 
to  regulate  his  expenditures. 

He  would  be  obliged  to  calculate  that  two  ends 
might  meet— he,  who  had  been  accustomed  to  inex- 
haustible coffers. 


84  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  And  this  will  necessarily  happen  sooner  or  later," 
he  thought.  "  If  Martial  should  marry,  or  if  he  should 
become  ambitious,  or  meet  with  evil  counsellors,  that 
will  be  the  end  of  my  reign." 

He  watched  and  studied  his  son  as  a  jealous  woman 
studies  and  watches  the  lover  she  mistrusts.  He 
thought  he  read  in  his  eyes  many  thoughts  which  were 
not  there ;  and  according  as  he  saw  him,  gay  or  sad, 
careless  or  preoccupied,  he  was  reassured  or  still  more 
alarmed. 

Sometimes  he  imagined  the  worst.  "  If  I  should 
quarrel  with  Martial,"  he  thought,  "  he  would  take 
possession  of  his  entire  fortune,  and  I  should  be  left 
without  bread." 

These  torturing  apprehensions  were,  to  a  man  who 
judged  the  sentiments  of  others  by  his  own,  a  terrible 
chastisement. 

Ah !  no  one  would  have  wished  his  existence  at  the 
price  he  paid  for  it — not  even  the  poor  wretches 
who  envied  his  lot  and  his  apparent  happiness,  as  they 
saw  him  roll  by  in  his  magnificent  carriage. 

There  were  days  when  he  almost  went  mad. 

"  What  am  I  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  foaming  with  rage. 
"  A  mere  plaything  in  the  hands  of  a  child.  My  son 
owns  me.  If  I  displease  him,  he  casts  me  aside.  Yes, 
he  can  dismiss  me  as  he  would  a  lackey.  If  I  enjoy 
his  fortune,  it  is  only  because  he  is  willing  that  I  should 
do  so.  I  owe  my  very  existence,  as  well  as  my  luxu- 
ries, to  his  charity.  But  a  moment  of  anger,  even  a 
caprice,  may  deprive  me  of  everything." 

With  such  ideas  in  his  brain,  the  duke  could  not  love 
his  son. 

He  hated ;  him. 

He  passionately  envied  him  all  the  advantages  he 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  85 

possessed — his  youth,  his  millions,  his  physical  beauty, 
and  his  talents,  which  were  really  of  a  superior  order. 

We  meet  every  day  mothers  who  are  jealous  of  their 
daughters,  and  some  fathers ! 

This  was  one  of  those  cases. 

The  duke,  however,  showed  no  sign  of  mental  dis- 
quietude; and  if  Martial  had  possessed  less  penetra- 
tion, he  would  have  believed  that  his  father  adored 
him.  But  if  he  had  detected  the  duke's  secret,  he  did 
not  allow  him  to  discover  it,  nor  did  he  abuse  his 
power. 

Their  manner  toward  each  other  was  perfect.  The 
duke  was  kind  even  to  weakness ;  Martial  full  of  def- 
erence. But  their  relations  were  not  those  of  father 
and  son.  One  was  in  constant  fear  of  displeasing  the 
other;  the  other  was  a  little  too  sure  of  his  power. 
They  lived  on  a  footing  of  perfect  equality,  like  two 
companions  of  the  same  age. 

From  this  trying  situation,  Lacheneur  had  rescued 
the  duke.  v 

The  owner  of  Sairmeuse,  an  estate  worth  more  than 
a  million,  the  duke  was  free  from  his  son's  tyranny ;  he 
had  recovered  his  liberty. 

What  brilliant  projects  flitted  through  his  brain  that 
night ! 

He  beheld  himself  the  richest  landowner  in  that  lo- 
cality ;  he  was  the  chosen  friend  of  the  King ;  had  he 
not  a  right  to  aspire  to  anything? 

Such  a  prospect  enchanted  him.  He  felt  twenty 
years  younger — the  twenty  years  that  had  been  passed 
in  exile. 

So,  rising  before  nine  o'clock,  he  went  to  awaken 
Martial. 

On   returning  from   dining  with   the   Marquis   de 


86  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

Courtornieu,  the  evening  before,  the  duke  had  gone 
through  the  chateau ;  but  this  hasty  examination  by 
candle-light  had  not  satisfied  his  curiosity.  He  wished 
to  see  it  in  detail  by  daylight. 

Followed  by  his  son,  he  explored  one  after  another 
of  the  rooms  of  the  princely  abode;  and,  with  every 
step,  the  recollections  of  his  infancy  crowded  upon 
him. 

Lacheneur  had  respected  everything.  The  duke 
found  articles  as  old  as  himself,  religiously  preserved, 
occupying  the  old  familiar  places  from  which  they  had 
never  been  removed. 

When  his  inspection  was  concluded : 

"  Decidedly,  Marquis,"  he  exclaimed,  "  this  La- 
cheneur was  not  such  a  rascal  as  I  supposed.  I  am  dis- 
posed to  forgive  him  a  great  deal,  on  account  of  the 
care  which  he  has  taken  of  our  house  in  our  absence." 

Martial  seemed  engrossed  in  thought. 

"  I  think,  Monsieur,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  that  we 
should  testify  our  gratitude  to  this  man  by  paying  him 
a  large  indemnity." 

This  word  excited  the  duke's  anger. 

"  An  indemnity  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Are  you  mad, 
Marquis?  Think  of  the  income  that  he  has  received 
from  my  estate.  Have  you  forgotten  the  calculation 
made  for  us  last  evening  by  the  Chevalier  de  la  Livan- 
diere?" 

"  The  chevalier  is  a  fool  ! "  declared  Martial 
promptly.  "  He  forgot  that  Lacheneur  has  trebled  the 
value  of  Sairmeuse.  I  think  that  our  family  honor  re- 
quires us  to  bestow  upon  this  man  an  indemnity  of  at 
least  one  hundred  thousand  francs.  This  would,  more- 
over, be  a  good  stroke  of  policy  in  the  present  state  of 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  87 

public  sentiment,  and  His  Majesty  would,  I  am  sure, 
be  much  pleased." 

"  Stroke  of  policy" — "  public  sentiment  " — "  His 
Majesty."  One  might  have  obtained  almost  anything 
from  M.  de  Sairmeuse  by  these  arguments. 

"  Heavenly  powers !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  a  hundred 
thousand  francs  !  how  you  talk  !  It  is  all  very  well 
for  you,  with  your  fortune  !  Still,  if  you  really  think 
so- — " 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  sir,  is  not  my  fortune  yours  ?  Yes, 
such  is  really  my  opinion.  So  much  so,  indeed,  that  if 
you  will  allow  me  to  do  so,  I  will  see  Lacheneur  myself, 
and  arrange  the  matter  in  such  a  way  that  his  pride  will 
not  be  wounded.  His  is  a  devotion  which  it  would  be 
well  to  retain." 

The  duke  opened  his  eyes  to  their  widest  extent. 

"  Lacheneur's  pride !  "  he  murmured.  "  Devotion 
which  it  would  be  well  to  retain  !  Why  do  you  sing  in 
this  strain?  Whence  comes  this  extraordinary  in- 
terest ?  " 

He  paused,  enlightened  by  a  sudden  recollection. 

"  I  understand  !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  I  understand. 
He  has  a  pretty  daughter." 

Martial  smiled  without  replying. 

"  Yes,  pretty  as  a  rose,"  continued  the  duke ;  "  but 
one  hundred  thousand  francs  !  Zounds  !  That  is  a 
round  sum  to  pay  for  such  a  whim.  But,  if  you  insist 
upon  it " 

Armed  with  this  authorization,  Martial,  two  hours 
later,  started  on  his  mission. 

The  first  peasant  he  met  told  him  the  way  to  the 
cottage  which  M.  Lacheneur  now  occupied. 

"  Follow  the  river,"  said  the  man,  "  and  when  you 
see  a  pine-grove  upon  your  left,  cross  it." 


88          THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

Martial  was  crossing  it,  when  he  heard  the  sound  of 
voices.  He  approached,  recognized  Marie-Anne  and 
Mauric.e  d'Escorval,  and  obeying  an  angry  impulse,  he 
paused. 

CHAPTER  XI 

During  the  decisive  moments  of  life,  when  one's  en- 
tire future  depends  upon  a  word,  or  a  gesture,  twenty 
contradictory  inspirations  can  traverse  the  mind  in  the 
time  occupied  by  a  flash  of  lightning. 

On  the  sudden  apparition  of  the  young  Marquis  de 
Sairmeuse,  Maurice  d'Escorval's  first  thought  was 
this: 

"  How  long  has  he  been  there  ?  Has  he  been  play- 
ing the  spy  ?  Has  he  been  listening  to  us  ?  What  did 
he  hear?'1 

His  first  impulse  was  to  spring  upon  his  enemy,  to 
strike  him  in  the  face,  and  compel  him  to  engage  in  a 
hand-to-hand  struggle. 

The  thought  of  Anne-Marie  checked  him. 

He  reflected  upon  the  possible,  even  probable  results 
of  a  quarrel  born  of  such  circumstances.  The  combat 
which  would  ensue  would  cost  this  pure  young  girl  her 
reputation.  Martial  would  talk  of  it ;  and  country 
people  are  pitiless.  He  saw  this  girl,  whom  he  looked 
so  devotedly  upon,  become  the  talk  of  the  neighbor- 
hood ;  saw  the  finger  of  scorn  pointed  at  her,  and  pos- 
sessed sufficient  self-control  to  master  his  anger.  All 
these  reflections  had  occupied  only  half  a  second. 

Then,  politely  touching  his  hat,  and  stepping  toward 
Martial : 

"  You  are  a  stranger,  Monsieur,"  said  he,  in  a  voice 
which  was  frightfully  altered,  "  and  you  have  doubtless 
lost  your  way  ?  " 


THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME  89 

His  words  were  ill-chosen,  and  defeated  his  prudent 
intentions.  A  curt  "  Mind  your  own  business  "  would 
have  been  less  wounding.  He  forgot  that  this  word 
"  stranger  "  was  the  most  deadly  insult  that  one  could 
cast  in  the  face  of  the  former  emigres,  who  had  returned 
with  the  allied  armies. 

Still  the  young  marquis  did  not  change  his  inso- 
lently nonchalant  attitude. 

He  touched  the  visor  of  his  hunting  cap  with  his 
finger,  and  replied : 

"  It  is  true — I  have  lost  my  way." 

Agitated  as  Marie-Anne  was,  she  could  not  fail  to 
understand  that  her  presence  was  all  that  restrained 
the  hatred  of  these  two  young  men.  Their  attitude, 
the  glance  with  which  they  measured  each  other,  did 
not  leave  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  on  that  score.  If  one 
was  ready  to  spring  upon  the  other,  the  other  was  on 
the  alert,  ready  to  defend  himself. 

The  silence  of  nearly  a  moment  which  followed  was 
as  threatening  as  the  profound  calm  which  precedes 
the  storm. 

Martial  was  the  first  to  break  it. 

"  A  peasant's  directions  are  not  generally  remark- 
able for  their  clearness,"  he  said,  lightly ;  "  and  for 
more  than  an  hour  I  have  been  seeking  the  house  to 
which  Monsieur  Lacheneur  has  retired." 

"  Ah !  " 

"  I  am  sent  to  him  by  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse,  my 
father." 

Knowing  what  he  did,  Maurice  supposed  that  these 
strangely  rapacious  individuals  had  some  new  demand 
to  make. 

"  I  thought,"  said  he,  "  that  all  relations  between 
Monsieur  Lacheneur  and  Monsieur  de  Sairmeuse  were 
broken  off  last  evening  at  the  house  of  the  abbe" 


90  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

This  was  said  in  the  most  provoking  manner,  and 
yet  Martial  never  so  much  as  frowned.  He  had  sworn 
that  he  would  remain  calm,  and  he  had  strength  enough 
to  keep  his  word. 

"  If  these  relations — as  God  forbid — have  been 
broken  off,"  he  replied,  "  believe  me,  Monsieur  d'Es- 
corval,  it  is  no  fault  of  ours." 

"  Then  it  is  not  as  people  say  ?  " 

"What  people?    Who?" 

"  The  people  here  in  the  neighborhood." 

"  Ah  !    And  what  do  these  people  say  ?  " 

"  The  truth.  That  you  have  been  guilty  of  an  of- 
fence which  a  man  of  honor  could  never  forgive  nor 
forget." 

The  young  marquis  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  You  are  quick  to  condemn,  sir,"  he  said,  coldly. 
"  Permit  me  to  hope  that  Monsieur  Lacheneur  will  be 
less  severe  than  yourself;  and  that  his  resentment — 
just,  I  confess,  will  vanish  before  " — he  hesitated — 
"  before  a  truthful  explanation." 

Such  an  expression  from  the  lips  of  this  haughty 
young  aristocrat!  Was  it  possible? 

Martial  profited  by  the  effect  he  had  produced  to  ad- 
vance toward  Marie-Anne,  and,  addressing  himself  ex- 
clusively to  her,  seemed  after  that  to  ignore  the  pres- 
ence of  Maurice  completely. 

"  For  there  has  been  a  mistake — a  misunderstand- 
ing, Mademoiselle,"  he  continued.  "  Do  not  doubt  it. 
The  Sairmeuse  are  not  ingrates.  How  could  anyone 
have  supposed  that  we  would  intentionally  give  offense 
to  a — devoted  friend  of  our  family,  and  that  at  a  mo- 
ment when  he  had  rendered  us  a  most  signal  service  ! 
A  true  gentleman  like  my  father,  and  a  hero  of  probity 
like  yours,  cannot  fail  to  esteem  each  other.  I  admit 


THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME  91 

that  in  the  scene  of  yesterday,  Monsieur  de  Sairmeuse 
did  not  appear  to  advantage ;  but  the  step  he  takes  to- 
day proves  his  sincere  regret." 

Certainly  this  was  not  the  cavalier  tone  which  he 
had  employed  in  addressing  Marie-Anne,  for  the  first 
time,  on  the  square  in  front  of  the  church. 

He  had  removed  his  hat,  he  remained  half  inclined 
before  her,  and  he  spoke  in  a  tone  of  profound  respect, 
as  though  it  were  a  haughty  duchess,  and  not  the  hum- 
ble daughter  of  that  "  rascal  "  Lacheneur  whom  he  was 
addressing. 

Was  it  only  a  roue's  manoeuvre  ?  Or  had  he  also  in- 
voluntarily submitted  to  the  power  of  this  beautiful 
girl?  It  was  both;  and  it  would  have  been  difficult 
for  him  to  say  where  the  voluntary  ended,  and  where 
the  involuntary  began. 

He  continued : 

"  My  father  is  an  old  man  who  has  suffered  cruelly. 
Exile  is  hard  to  bear.  But  if  sorrows  and  deceptions 
have  embittered  his  character,  they  have  not  changed 
his  heart.  His  apparent  imperiousness  and  arrogance 
conceal  a  kindness  of  heart  which  I  have  often  seen 
degenerate  into  positive  weakness.  And — why  should 
I  not  confess  it  ? — the  Due  de  Sairmeuse,  with  his 
white  hair,  still  retains  the  illusions  of  a  child.  He  re- 
fuses to  believe  that  the  world  has  progressed  during 
the  past  twenty  years.  Moreover,  people  had  deceived 
him  by  the  most  absurd  fabrications.  To  speak 
plainly,  even  while  we  were  in  Montaignac,  Monsieur 
Lacheneur's  enemies  succeeded  in  prejudicing  my 
father  against  him." 

One  would  have  sworn  that  he  was  speaking  the 
truth,  so  persuasive  was  his  voice,  so  entirely  did  the 
expression  of  his  face,  his  glance,  and  his  gestures  ac- 
cord with  his  words. 


92  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

And  Maurice,  who  felt — who  was  certain  that  the 
young  man  was  lying,  impudently  lying,  was  abashed 
by  this  scientific  prevarication  which  is  so  universally 
practised  in  good  society,  and  of  which  he  was  entirely 
ignorant. 

But  what  did  the  marquis  desire  here — and  why 
this  farce  ? 

"  Need  I  tell  you,  Mademoiselle,"  he  resumed,  "  all 
that  I  suffered  last  evening  in  the  little  drawing-room  in 
the  presbytery?  No,  never  in  my  whole  life  can  I 
recollect  such  a  cruel  moment.  I  understood,  and  I 
did  honor  to  Monsieur  Lacheneur's  heroism.  Hearing 
of  our  arrival,  he,  without  hesitation,  without  delay, 
hastened  to  voluntarily  surrender  a  princely  fortune — 
and  he  was  insulted.  This  excessive  injustice  horri- 
fied me.  And  if  I  did  not  openly  protest  against  it — 
if  I  did  not  show  my  indignation — it  was  only  because 
contradiction  drives  my  father  to  the  verge  of  frenzy. 
And  what  good  would  it  have  done  for  me  to  protest  ? 
The  filial  love  and  piety  which  you  displayed  were  far 
more  powerful  in  their  effect  than  any  words  of  mine 
would  have  been.  You  were  scarcely  out  of  the  vil- 
lage before  Monsieur  de  Sairmeuse,  already  ashamed 
of  his  injustice,  said  to  me :  '  I  have  been  wrong,  but 
I  am  an  old  man ;  it  is  hard  for  me  to  decide  to  make 
the  first  advance ;  you,  Marquis,  go  and  find  Monsieur 
Lacheneur,  and  obtain  his  forgiveness.'  " 

Marie-Anne,  redder  than  a  peony,  and  terribly  em- 
barrassed, lowered  her  eyes. 

"  I  thank  you,  Monsieur,"  she  faltered,  "  in  the  name 
of  my  father " 

"  Oh !  do  not  thank  me,"  interrupted  Martial,  ear- 
nestly ;  "  it  will  be  my  duty,  on  the  contrary,  to  render 
you  thanks,  if  you  can  induce  Monsieur  Lacheneur 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  93 

to  accept  the  reparation  which  is  due  him — and  he  will 
accept  it,  if  you  will  only  condescend  to  plead  our 
cause.  Who  could  resist  your  sweet  voice,  your  beau- 
tiful, beseeching  eyes  ?  " 

However  inexperienced  Maurice  might  be,  he  could 
no  longer  fail  to  comprehend  Martial's  intentions. 
This  man  whom  he  mortally  hated  already,  dared  to 
speak  of  love  to  Marie- Anne,  and  before  him,  Maurice. 
In  other  words,  the  marquis,  not  content  with  having 
ignored  and  insulted  him,  presumed  to  take  an  inso- 
lent advantage  of  his  supposed  simplicity. 

The  certainty  of  this  insult  sent  all  his  blood  in  a 
boiling  torrent  to  his  brain. 

He  seized  Martial  by  the  arm,  and  with  irresistible 
power  whirled  him  twice  around,  then  threw  him  more 
than  ten  feet,  exclaiming: 

"  This  last  is  too  much,  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse !  " 

Maurice's  attitude  was  so  threatening  that  Martial 
fully  expected  another  attack.  The  violence  of  the 
shock  had  thrown  him  down  upon  one  knee ;  without 
rising,  he  lifted  his  gun,  ready  to  take  aim. 

It  was  not  from  anything  like  cowardice  on  the  part 
of  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  that  he  decided  to  fire 
upon  an  unarmed  foe ;  but  the  affront  which  he  had 
received  was  so  deadly  and  so  ignoble  in  his  opinion, 
that  he  would  have  shot  Maurice  like  a  dog,  rather 
than  feel  the  weight  of  his  finger  upon  him  again. 

This  explosion  of  anger  from  Maurice  Marie-Anne 
had  been  expecting  and  hoping  for  every  moment. 

She  was  even  more  inexperienced  than  her  lover; 
but  she  was  a  woman,  and  could  not  fail  to  understand 
the  meaning  of  the  young  marquis. 

He  was  evidently  "  paying  his  court  to  her."  And 
with  what  intentions  !  It  was  only  too  easy  to  divine. 


94  THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

Her  agitation,  while  the  marquis  spoke  in  a  more 
and  more  tender  voice,  changed  first  to  stupor,  then 
to  indignation,  as  she  realized  his  marvellous  audacity. 

After  that,  how  could  she  help  blessing  the  violence 
which  put  an  end  to  a  situation  which  was  so  insulting 
for  her,  and  so  humiliating  for  Maurice  ? 

!An  ordinary  woman  would  have  thrown  herself  be- 
tween the  two  men  who  were  ready  to  kill  each  other. 
Marie-Anne  did  not  move  a  muscle. 

Was  it  not  the  duty  of  Maurice  to  protect  her  when 
she  was  insulted  ?  Who,  then,  if  not  he,  should  defend 
her  from  the  insolent  gallantry  of  this  libertine  ?  She 
would  have  blushed,  she  who  was  energy  personified, 
to  love  a  weak  and  pusillanimous  man. 

But  any  intervention  was  unnecessary.  Maurice 
comprehended  that  this  was  one  of  those  affronts 
which  the  person  insulted  must  not  seem  to  suspect, 
under  penalty  of  giving  the  offending  party  the  ad- 
vantage. 

He  felt  that  Marie-Anne  must  not  be  regarded  as  the 
cause  of  the  quarrel ! 

His  instant  recognition  of  the  situation  produced  a 
powerful  reaction  in  his  mind ;  and  he  recovered,  as  if 
by  magic,  his  coolness  and  the  free  exercise  of  his  fac- 
ulties. 

"  Yes,"  he  resumed,  defiantly,  "  this  is  hypocrisy 
enough.  To  dare  to  prate  of  reparation  after  the  in- 
sults that  you  and  yours  have  inflicted,  is  adding  inten- 
tional humiliation  to  insult — and  I  will  not  permit  it." 

Martial  had  thrown  aside  his  gun ;  he  now  rose  and 
brushed  the  knee  of  his  pantaloons,  to  which  a  few  par- 
ticles of  dust  had  adhered,  with  a  phlegm  whose  secret 
he  had  learned  in  England. 

He  was  too  discerning  not  to  perceive  that  Maurice 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  95 

had  disguised  the  true  cause  of  his  outburst  of  pas- 
sion ;  but  what  did  it  matter  to  him  ?  Had  he  avowed 
it,  the  marquis  would  not  have  been  displeased. 

Yet  it  was  necessary  to  make  some  response,  and 
to  preserve  the  superiority  which  he  imagined  he  had 
maintained  up  to  that  time. 

"  You  will  never  know,  Monsieur,"  he  said,  glanc- 
ing alternately  at  his  gun  and  at  Marie-Anne,  "  all  that 
you  owe  to  Mademoiselle  Lacheneur.  We  shall  meet 
again,  I  hope " 

"  You  have  made  that  remark  before,"  Maurice  in- 
terrupted, tauntingly.  "  Nothing  is  easier  than  to 
find  me.  The  first  peasant  you  meet  will  point  out  the 
house  of  Baron  d'Escorval." 

"  Eh  bien!  sir,  I  cannot  promise  that  you  will  not  see 
two  of  my  friends." 

"  Oh  !  whenever  it  may  please  you  !  " 

"  Certainly ;  but  it  would  gratify  me  to  know  by 
what  right  you  make  yourself  the  judge  of  Monsieur 
Lacheneur's  honor,  and  take  it  upon  yourself  to,  de- 
fend what  has  not  been  attacked.  Who  has  given  you 
this  right  ?  " 

From  Martial's  sneering  tone,  Maurice  was  certain 
that  he  had  overheard,  at  least  a  part  of,  his  conversa- 
tion with  Marie-Anne. 

"  My  right,"  he  replied,  "  is  that  of  friendship.  If  I 
tell  you  that  your  advances  are  unwelcome,  it  is  be- 
cause I  know  that  Monsieur  Lacheneur  will  accept 
nothing  from  you.  No,  nothing,  under  whatever 
guise  you  may  offer  these  alms  which  you  tender  mere- 
ly to  appease  your  own  conscience.  He  will  never 
forgive  the  affront  which  is  his  honor  and  your  shame. 
Ah !  you  thought  to  degrade  him,  Messieurs  de  Sair- 
meuse !  and  you  have  lifted  him  far  above  your  mock 


96  THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

grandeur.  He  receive  anything  from  you !  Go  ;  learn 
that  your  millions  will  never  give  you  a  pleasure  equal 
to  the  ineffable  joy  he  will  feel,  when  seeing  you  roll 
by  in  your  carriage,  he  says  to  himself :  '  Those  peo- 
ple owe  everything  to  me ! ' : 

His  burning  words  vibrated  with  such  intensity  of 
feeling  that  Marie-Anne  could  not  resist  the  impulse 
to  press  his  hand ;  and  this  gesture  was  his  revenge 
upon  Martial,  who  turned  pale  with  passion. 

"  But  I  have  still  another  right,"  continued  Maurice. 
"  My  father  yesterday  had  the  honor  of  asking  of  Mon- 
sieur Lacheneur  the  hand  of  his  daughter — 

"  And  I  refused  it !  "  cried  a  terrible  voice. 

Marie-Anne  and  both  young  men  turned  with  the 
same  movement  of  alarm  and  surprise. 

M.  Lacheneur  stood  before  them,  and  by  his  side 
was  Chanlouineau,  who  surveyed  the  group  with 
threatening  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  refused  it,"  resumed  M.  Lacheneur,  "  and 
I  do  not  believe  that  my  daughter  will  marry  anyone 
without  my  consent.  What  did  you  promise  me  this 
morning,  Marie-Anne  ?  Can  it  be  you,  you  who  grant 
a  rendezvous  to  gallants  in  the  forest  ?  Return  to  the 
house,  instantly " 

"  But  father " 

"  Return !  "  he  repeated  with  an  oath ;  "  return,  I 
command  you." 

She  obeyed  and  departed,  not  without  giving  Mau- 
rice a  look  in  which  he  read  a  farewell  that  she  be- 
lieved would  be  eternal. 

As  soon  as  she  had  gone,  perhaps  twenty  paces,  M. 
Lacheneur,  with  folded  arms,  confronted  Maurice. 

"  As  for  you,  Monsieur  d'Escorval,"  said  he,  rudely, 
"  I  hope  that  you  will  no  longer  undertake  to  prowl 
around  my  daughter " 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME  97 

"  I  swear  to  you,  Monsieur " 

"  Oh,  no  oaths,  if  you  please.  -It  is  an  evil  action 
to  endeavor  to  turn  a  young  girl  from  her  duty,  which 
is  obedience.  You  have  broken  forever  all  relations 
between  your  family  and  mine." 

The  poor  youth  tried  to  excuse  himself,  but  M. 
Lacheneur  interrupted  him. 

"  Enough !  enough !  "  said  he ;  "  go  back  to  your 
home." 

And  as  Maurice  hesitated,  he  seized  him  by  the  col- 
lar and  dragged  him  to  the  little  footpath  leading 
through  the  grove. 

It  was  the  work  of  scarcely  ten  seconds,  and  yet,  he 
found  time  to  whisper  in  the  young  man's  ear,  in  his 
formerly  friendly  tones : 

"  Go,  you  little  wretch !  do  you  wish  to  render  all  my 
precautions  useless  ?  " 

He  watched  Maurice  as  he  disappeared,  bewildered 
by  the  scene  he  had  just  witnessed,  and  stupefied  by 
what  he  had  just  heard ;  and  it  was  not  until  he  saw 
that  young  D'Escorval  was  out  of  hearing  that  he 
turned  to  Martial. 

"  As  I  have  had  the  honor  of  meeting  you,  Monsieur 
le  Marquis,"  said  he,  "  I  deem  it  my  duty  to  inform 
you  that  Chupin  and  his  sons  are  searching  for  you 
everywhere.  It  is  at  the  instance  of  the  duke,  your 
father,  who  is  anxious  for  you  to  repair  at  once  to  the 
Chateau  de  Courtornieu." 

He  turned  to  Chanlouineau,  and  added: 

"  We  will  now  proceed  on  our  way." 

But  Martial  detained  him  with  a  gesture. 

"  I  am  much  surprised  to  hear  that  they  are  seeking 
me,"  said  he.  "  My  father  knows  very  well  where  he 
7 


98          THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

sent  me;  I  was  going  to  your  house,  Monsieur,  and 
at  his  request." 

"  To  my  house?  " 

"  To  your  house,  yes,  Monsieur,  to  express  our  sin- 
cere regret  at  the  scene  which  took  place  at  the  presby- 
tery last  evening." 

And  without  waiting  for  any  response,  Martial,  with 
wonderful  cleverness  and  felicity  of  expression,  began 
to  repeat  to  the  father  the  story  which  he  had  just  re- 
lated to  the  daughter. 

According  to  his  version,  his  father  and  himself 
were  in  despair.  How  could  M.  Lacheneur  suppose 
them  guilty  of  such  black  ingratitude?  Why  had  he 
retired  so  precipitately?  The  Due  de  Sairmeuse 
held  at  M.  Lacheneur's  disposal  any  amount  which  it 
might  please  him  to  mention — sixty,  a  hundred  thou- 
sand francs,  even  more. 

But  M.  Lacheneur  did  not  appear  to  be  dazzled  in 
the  least ;  and  when  Martial  had  concluded,  he  replied, 
respectfully,  but  coldly,  that  he  would  consider  the 
matter. 

This  coldness  amazed  Chanlouineau ;  he  did  not 
conceal  the  fact  when  the  marquis,  after  many  earnest 
protestations,  at  last  wended  his  way  homeward. 

"  We  have  misjudged  these  people,"  he  declared. 

But  M.  Lacheneur  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  And  so  you  are  foolish  enough  to  suppose  that  it 
was  to  me  that  he  offered  all  that  money  ?  " 

"  Zounds !     I  have  ears." 

"  Ah,  well !  my  poor  boy,  you  must  not  believe  all 
they  hear,  if  you  have.  The  truth  is,  that  these  large 
sums  were  intended  to  win  the  favor  of  my  daughter. 
She  has  pleased  this  coxcomb  of  a  marquis ;  and — he 
wishes  to  make  her  his  mistress " 


99 

Chanlouineau  stopped  short,  with  eyes  flashing, 
and  hands  clinched. 

"  Good  God !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  prove  that,  and  I 
am  yours,  body  and  soul — to  do  anything  you  desire." 


CHAPTER  XII 

"  No,  never  in  my  whole  life  have  I  met  a  woman 
who  can  compare  with  this  Marie-Anne !  What  grace 
and  what  dignity !  Ah  !  her  beauty  is  divine !  " 

So  Martial  was  thinking  while  returning  to  Sair- 
meuse  after  his  proposals  to  M.  Lacheneur. 

At  the  risk  of  losing  his  way  he  took  the  shortest 
course,  which  led  across  the  fields  and  over  ditches, 
which  he  leaped  with  the  aid  of  his  gun. 

He  found  a  pleasure,  entirely  novel  and  very  de- 
lightful, in  picturing  Marie-Anne  as  he  had  just  seen 
her,  blushing  and  paling,  about  to  swoon,  then  lifting 
her  head  haughtily  in  her  pride  and  disdain. 

Who  would  have  suspected  that  such  indomitable  en- 
ergy and  such  an  impassioned  soul  was  hidden  beneath 
such  girlish  artlessness  and  apparent  coldness?  What 
an  adorable  expression  illumined  her  face,  what  passion 
shone  in  those  great  black  eyes  when  she  looked  at  that 
little  fool  D'Escorval !  What  would  not  one  give  to 
be  regarded  thus,  even  for  a  moment?  How  could  the 
boy  help  being  crazy  about  her? 

He  himself  loved  her,  without  being,  as  yet,  willing 
to  confess  it.  What  other  name  could  be  given  to  this 
passion  which  had  overpowered  reason,  and  to  the 
furious  desires  which  agitated  him  ? 

"  Ah !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  she  shall  be  mine.  Yes,  she 
shall  be  mine ;  I  will  have  her !  " 


ioo         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

Consequently  he  began  to  study  the  strategic  side 
of  the  undertaking  which  this  resolution  involved  with 
the  sagacity  of  one  who  had  not  been  without  an  ex- 
tended experience  in  such  matters. 

His  debut,  he  was  forced  to  admit,  had  been  neither 
fortunate  nor  adroit.  Conveyed  compliments  and 
money  had  both  been  rejected.  If  Marie-Anne  had 
heard  his  covert  insinuations  with  evident  horror,  M. 
Lacheneur  had  received,  with  even  more  than  cold- 
ness, his  advances  and  his  offers  of  actual  wealth. 

Moreover,  he  remembered  Chanlouineau's  terrible 
eyes. 

"  How  he  measured  me,  that  magnificent  rustic !  " 
he  growled.  "  At  a  sign  from  Marie-Anne  he  would 
have  crushed  me  like  an  eggshell,  without  a  thought 
of  my  ancestors.  Ah  !  does  he  also  love  her  ?  There 
will  be  three  rivals  in  that  case." 

But  the  more  difficult  and  even  perilous  the  under- 
taking seemed,  the  more  his  passions  were  inflamed. 

"  My  failures  can  be  repaired,"  he  thought.  "  Oc- 
casions of  meeting  shall  not  be  wanting.  Will  it  not 
be  necessary  to  hold  frequent  interviews  with  Mon- 
sieur Lacheneur  in  effecting  a  formal  transfer  of  Sair- 
metise?  I  will  win  him  over  to  my  side.  With  the 
daughter  my  course  is  plain.  Profiting  by  my  unfort- 
unate experience,  I  will,  in  the  future,  be  as  timid  as  I 
have  been  bold ;  and  she  will  be  hard  to  please  if  she 
is  not  flattered  by  this  triumph  of  her  beauty.  D'Es- 
corval  remains  to  be  disposed  of " 

But  this  was  the  point  upon  which  Martial  was  most 
exercised. 

He  had,  it  is  true,  seen  this  rival  rudely  dismissed  by 
M.  Lacheneur;  and  yet  the  anger  of  the  latter  had 
seemed  to  him  too  great  to  be  absolutely  real. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    101 

He  suspected  a  comedy,  but  for  whose  benefit?  For 
his,  or  for  Chanlouineau's  ?  And  yet,  what  could  pos- 
sibly be  the  motive? 

"  And  yet,"  he  reflected,  "  my  hands  are  tied ;  and  I 
cannot  call  this  little  D'Escorval  to  account  for  his 
insolence.  To  swallow  such  an  affront  in  silence  is 
hard.  Still,  he  is  brave,  there  is  no  denying  that ;  per- 
haps I  can  find  some  other  way  to  provoke  his  anger. 
But  even  then,  what  could  I  do?  If  I  harmed  a  hair 
of  his  head,  Marie-Anne  would  never  forgive  me. 
Ah !  I  would  give  a  handsome  sum  in  exchange  for 
some  little  device  to  send  him  out  of  the  country." 

Revolving  in  his  mind  these  plans,  whose  frightful 
consequences  he  could  neither  calculate  nor  foresee, 
Martial  was  walking  up  the  avenue  leading  to  the 
chateau,  when  he  heard  hurried  footsteps  behind  him. 

He  turned,  and  seeing  two  men  running  after  him 
and  motioning  him  to  stop,  he  paused. 

It  was  Chupin,  accompanied  by  one  of  his  sons. 

This  old  rascal  had  been  enrolled  among  the^  ser- 
vants charged  with  preparing  Sairmeuse  for  the  recep- 
tion of  the  duke;  and  he  had  already  discovered  the 
secret  of  making  himself  useful  to  his  master,  which 
was  by  seeming  to  be  indispensable. 

"  Ah,  Monsieur,"  he  cried,  "  we  have  been  searching 
for  you  everywhere,  my  son  and  I.  It  was  Monsieur 
le  Due " 

"  Very  well,"  said  Martial,  dryly.  "  I  am  return- 
ing " 

But  Chupin  was  not  sensitive ;  and  although  he  had 
not  been  very  favorably  received,  he  ventured  to  follow 
the  marquis  at  a  little  distance,  but  sufficiently  near  to 
make  himself  heard.  He  also  had  his  schemes ;  for  it 
was  not  long  before  he  began  a  long  recital  of  the  cal- 


102         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

umnies  which  had  been  spread  about  the  neighbor- 
hood in  regard  to  the  Lacheneur  affair.  Why  did  he 
choose  this  subject  in  preference  to  any  other?  Did 
he  suspect  the  young  marquis's  passion  for  Marie- 
Anne? 

According  to  this  report,  Lacheneur — he  no  longer 
said  "  monsieur  " — was  unquestionably  a  rascal ;  the 
complete  surrender  of  Sairmeuse  was  only  a  farce,  as 
he  must  possess  thousands,  and  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  francs,  since  he  was  about  to  marry  his  daughter. 

If  the  scoundrel  had  felt  only  suspicions,  they  were 
changed  into  certainty  by  the  eagerness  with  which 
Martial  demanded: 

"  How !  is  Mademoiselle  Lacheneur  to  be  mar- 
ried?" 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  And  to  whom  ?  " 

"  To  Chanlouineau,  the  fellow  whom  the  peasants 
wished  to  kill  yesterday  upon  the  square,  because  he 
was  disrespectful  to  the  duke.  He  is  an  avaricious 
man ;  and  if  Marie-Anne  does  not  bring  him  a  good 
round  sum  as  a  dowry,  he  will  never  marry  her,  no 
matter  how  beautiful  she  may  be." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  what  you  say  ?  " 

"  It  is  true.  My  eldest  son  heard  from  Chanloui- 
neau and  from  Lacheneur  that  the  wedding  would 
take  place  within  a  month." 

And  turning  to  his  son  : 

"  Is  it  not  true,  boy  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  promptly  replied  the  youth,  who  had  heard 
nothing  of  the  kind. 

Martial  was  silent,  ashamed,  perhaps,  of  allowing 
himself  to  listen  to  the  gossip,  but  glad  to  have  been 
informed  of  such  an  important  circumstance. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    103 

If  Chupin  was  not  telling  a  falsehood — and  what 
reason  could  he  have  for  doing-  so — it  became  evident 
that  M.  Lacheneur's  conduct  concealed  some  great 
mystery.  Why,  without  some  potent  motive,  should 
he  have  refused  to  give  his  daughter  to  Maurice  d'Es- 
corval  whom  she  loved,  to  bestow  her  upon  a  peasant  ? 

As  he  reached  Sairmeuse,  he  was  swearing  that  he 
would  discover  this  motive.  A  strange  scene  awaited 
him.  In  the  broad  open  space  extending  from  the 
front  of  the  chateau  to  the  parterre  lay  a  huge  pile  of  all 
kinds  of  clothing,  linen,  plate,  and  furniture.  One 
might  have  supposed  that  the  occupants  of  the  chateau 
were  moving.  A  half  dozen  men  were  running  to  and 
fro,  and  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  rubbish  was  the 
Due  de  Sairmeuse,  giving  orders. 

Martial  did  not  understand  the  whole  meaning  of  the 
scene  at  first.  He  went  to  his  father,  and  after  saluting 
him  respectfully,  inquired: 

"What  is  all  this?" 

M.  de  Sairmeuse  laughed  heartily. 

"  What !  can  you  not  guess  ?  "  he  replied.  "  It  is 
very  simple,  however.  When  the  lawful  master,  on 
his  return,  sleeps  beneath  the  bed-coverings  of  the 
usurper,  it  is  delightful,  the  first  night,  not  so  pleasant 
on  the  second.  Everything  here  reminds  me  too  forc- 
ibly of  Monsieur  Lacheneur.  It  seems  to  me  that  I 
am  in  his  house ;  and  the  thought  is  unendurable.  So 
I  have  had  them  collect  everything  belonging  to  him 
and  to  his  daughter — everything,  in  fact,  which  did 
not  belong  to  the  chateau  in  former  years.  The  ser- 
vants will  put  it  all  into  a  cart  and  carry  it  to  him." 

The  young  marquis  gave  fervent  thanks  to  Heaven 
that  he  had  arrived  before  it  was  too  late.  Had  his 
father's  project  been  executed,  he  would  have  been 
obliged  to  bid  farewell  to  all  his  hopes. 


io4         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  You  surely  will  not  do  this,  Monsieur  le  Due  ?  " 
said  he,  earnestly. 

"  And  why,  pray  ?  Who  will  prevent  me  from  do- 
ing it  ?  " 

"  No  one,  most  assuredly.  But  you  will  decide,  on 
reflection,  that  a  man  who  has  not  conducted  himself 
too  badly  has  a  right  to  some  consideration." 

The  duke  seemed  greatly  astonished. 

"  Consideration !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  This  rascal  has 
a  right  to  some  consideration!  Well,  this  is  one  of 
the  poorest  of  jokes.  What!  I  give  him — that  is  to 
say — you  give  him  a  hundred  thousand  francs,  and 
that  will  not  content  him !  He  is  entitled  to  consider- 
ation !  You,  who  are  after  the  daughter,  may  give  it 
to  him  if  you  like,  but  /  shall  do  as  I  like !  " 

"  Very  well ;  but,  Monsieur,  I  would  think  twice,  if 
I  were  in  your  place.  Lacheneur  has  surrendered 
Sairmeuse.  That  is  all  very  well ;  but  how  can  you 
authenticate  your  claim  to  the  property  ?  What  would 
you  do  if,  in  case  you  imprudently  irritated  him,  he 
should  change  his  mind?  What  would  become  of 
your  right  to  the  estate?  " 

M.  Sairmeuse  actually  turned  green. 

"  Zounds !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  had  not  thought  of 
that.  Here,  you  fellows,  take  all  these  things  back 
again,  and  that  quickly !  " 

And  as  they  were  obeying  his  order: 

"  Now,"  he  remarked,  "  let  us  hasten  to  Courtor- 
nieu.  They  have  already  sent  for  us  twice.  It  must 
be  business  of  the  utmost  importance  which  demands 
our  attention." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME         105 


CHAPTER  XIII 

The  Chateau  de  Courtornieu  is,  next  to  Sairmeuse, 
the  most  magnificent  habitation  in  the  arrondissement 
of  Montaignac. 

The  approach  to  the  castle  was  by  a  long  and  nar- 
row road,  badly  paved.  When  the  carriage  containing 
Martial  and  his  father  turned  from  the  public  highway 
into  this  rough  road,  the  jolting  aroused  the  duke 
from  the  profound  revery  into  which  he  had  fallen  on 
leaving  Sairmeuse. 

The  marquis  thought  that  he  had  caused  this  un- 
usual fit  of  abstraction. 

"  It  is  the  result  of  my  adroit  manoeuvre,"  he  said  to 
himself,  not  without  secret  satisfaction.  "  Until  the 
restitution  of  Sairmeuse  is  legalized,  I  can  make  my 
father  do  anything  I  wish;  yes,  anything.  And  if  it 
is  necessary,  he  will  even  invite  Lacheneur  and  Marie- 
Anne  to  his  table." 

He  was  mistaken.  The  duke  had  already  forgotten 
the  affair ;  his  most  vivid  impressions  lasted  no  longer 
than  an  indentation  in  the  sand. 

He  lowered  the  glass  in  front  of  the  carriage,  and, 
after  ordering  the  coachman  to  drive  more  slowly : 

"  Now,"  said  he  to  his  son,  "  let  us  talk  a  little.  Are 
you  really  in  love  with  that  little  Lacheneur?" 

Martial  could  not  repress  a  start.  "  Oh !  in  love," 
said  he,  lightly,  "  that  would  perhaps  be  saying  too 
much.  Let  me  say  that  she  has  taken  my  fancy ;  that 
will  be  sufficient." 

The  duke  regarded  his  son  with  a  bantering  air. 

"  Really,  you  delight  me !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  feared 


106         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

that  this  love-affair  might  derange,  at  least  for  the  mo- 
ment, certain  plans  that  I  have  formed — for  I  have 
formed  certain  plans  for  you." 

"  The  devil !  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  my  plans,  and  I  will  communicate 
them  to  you  later  in  detail.  I  will  content  myself  to- 
day by  recommending  you  to  examine  Mademoiselle 
Blanche  de  Courtornieu." 

Martial  made  no  reply.  This  recommendation  was 
entirely  unnecessary.  If  Mile.  Lacheneur  had  made 
him  forget  Mile,  de  Courtornieu  that  morning  for  some 
moments,  the  remembrance  of  Marie-Anne  was  now 
effaced  by  the  radiant  image  of  Blanche. 

"  Before  discussing  the  daughter,"  resumed  the 
duke,  "  let  us  speak  of  the  father.  He  is  one  of  my 
strongest  friends ;  and  I  know  him  thoroughly.  You 
have  heard  men  reproach  me  for  what  they  style  my 
prejudices,  have  you  not?  Well,  in  comparison  with 
the  Marquise  de  Courtornieu,  I  am  only  a  Jacobin." 

"  Oh !  my  father !  " 

"  Really,  nothing  could  be  more  true.  If  I  am  be- 
hind the  age  in  which  I  live,  he  belongs  to  the  reign  of 
Louis  XIV.  Only — for  there  is  an  only — the  princi- 
ples which  I  openly  avow,  he  keeps  locked  up  in  his 
snuff-box — and  trust  him  for  not  forgetting  to  open  it 
at  the  opportune  moment.  He  has  suffered  cruelly 
for  his  opinions,  in  the  sense  of  having  so  often  been 
obliged  to  conceal  them.  He  concealed  them,  first, 
under  the  consulate,  when  he  returned  from  exile.  He 
dissimulated  them  even  more  courageously  under  the 
Empire — for  he  played  the  part  of  a  kind  of  chamber- 
lain to  Bonaparte,  this  dear  marquis.  But,  chut !  do 
not  remind  him  of  that  proof  of  heroism ;  he  has  de- 
plored it  bitterly  since  the  battle  of  Lutzen." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    107 

This  was  the  tone  in  which  M.  de  Sairmeuse  was 
accustomed  to  speak  of  his  best  friends. 

"  The  history  of  his  fortune,"  he  continued,  "  is  the 
history  of  his  marriages — I  say  marriages,  because  he 
has  married  a  number  of  times,  and  always  advanta- 
geously. Yes,  in  a  period  of  fifteen  years  he  has  had 
the  misfortune  of  losing  three  wives,  each  richer  than 
the  other.  His  daughter  is  the  child  of  his  third  and 
last  wife,  a  Cisse  Blossac — she  died  in  1809.  He  com- 
forted himself  after  each  bereavement  by  purchasing  a 
quantity  of  lands  or  bonds.  So  that  now  he  is  as  rich 
as  you  are,  Marquis,  and  his  influence  is  powerful  and 
widespread.  I  forgot  one  detail,  however :  he  believes, 
they  tell  me,  in  the  growing  power  of  the  clergy,  and 
has  become  very  devout." 

He  checked  himself;  the  carriage  had  stopped  be- 
fore the  entrance  of  the  Chateau  de  Courtornieu,  and 
the  marquis  came  forward  to  receive  his  guests  in  per- 
son. A  flattering  distinction,  which  he  seldom  lav- 
ished upon  his  visitors.  The  marquis  was  long  rather 
than  tall,  and  very  solemn  in  deportment.  The  head 
that  surmounted  his  angular  form  was  remarkably 
small,  a  characteristic  of  his  race,  and  covered  with 
thin,  glossy  black  hair,  and  lighted  by  cold,  round 
black  eyes. 

The  pride  that  becomes  a  gentleman,  and  the  humil- 
ity that  befits  a  Christian,  were  continually  at  war  with 
each  other  in  his  countenance. 

He  pressed  the  hands  of  M.  de  Sairmeuse  and  Mar- 
tial, overwhelming  them  with  compliments  uttered  in 
a  thin,  rather  nasal  voice,  which,  issuing  from  his  im- 
mense body,  was  as  astonishing  as  the  sound  of  .a  flute 
issuing  from  the  pipes  of  an  orphicleide  would  be. 

"  At  last  you  have  come,"  he  said ;  "  we  were  wait- 


io8         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

ing  for  you  before  beginning  our  deliberations  upon 
a  very  grave,  and  also  very  delicate  matter.  We  are 
thinking  of  addressing  a  petition  to  His  Majesty.  The 
nobility,  who  have  suffered  so  much  during  the  Revo- 
lution, have  a  right  to  expect  ample  compensation. 
Our  neighbors,  to  the  number  of  sixteen,  are  now  as- 
sembled in  my  cabinet,  transformed  for  the  time  into  a 
council  chamber." 

Martial  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  all  the  ridic- 
ulous and  tiresome  conversation  he  would  probably  be 
obliged  to  hear;  and  his  father's  recommendation  oc- 
curred to  hiiru 

"  Shall  we  not  have  the  honor  of  paying  our  respects 
to  Mademoiselle  de  Courtornieu  ?  " 

"  My  daughter  must  be  in  the  drawing-room  with 
our  cousin,"  replied  the  marquis,  in  an  indifferent  tone ; 
"  at  least,  if  she  is  not  in  the  garden." 

This  might  be  construed  into,  "  Go  and  look  for  her 
if  you  choose."  At  least  Martial  understood  it  in  that 
way ;  and  when  they  entered  the  hall,  he  allowed  his 
father  and  the  marquis  to  go  upstairs  without  him. 

A  servant  opened  the  door  of  the  drawing-room  for 
him — but  it  was  empty. 

"  Very  well,"  said  he ;  "  I  know  my  way  to  the  gar- 
den." 

But  he  explored  it  in  vain ;  no  one  was  to  be  found. 

He  decided  to  return  to  the  house  and  march  bravely 
into  the  presence  of  the  dreaded  enemy.  He  had 
turned  to  retrace  his  steps  when,  through  the  foliage  of 
a  bower  of  jasmine,  he  thought  he  could  distinguish  a 
white  dress. 

He  advanced  softly,  and  his  heart  quickened  its 
throbbing  when  he  saw  that  he  was  right. 

Mile.  Blanche  de  Courtornieu  was  seated  on  a  bench 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    109 

beside  an  old  lady,  and  was  engaged  in  reading  a  letter 
in  a  low  voice. 

She  must  have  been  greatly  preoccupied,  since  she 
had  not  heard  Martial's  footsteps  approaching. 

He  was  only  ten  paces  from  her,  so  hear  that  he 
could  distinguish  the  shadow  of  her  long  eyelashes. 

He  paused,  holding  his  breath,  in  a  delicious  ecstasy. 

"  Ah !  how  beautiful  she  is !  "  he  thought.  Beauti- 
ful ?  no.  But  pretty,  yes ;  as  pretty  as  heart  could  de- 
sire, with  her  great  velvety  blue  eyes  and  her  pouting 
lips.  She  was  a  blonde,  but  one  of  those  dazzling  and 
radiant  blondes  found  only  in  the  countries  of  the  sun ; 
and  from  her  hair,  drawn  high  upon  the  top  of  her 
head,  escaped  a  profusion  of  ravishing,  glittering  ring- 
lets, which  seemed  almost  to  sparkle  in  the  play  of  the 
light  breeze. 

One  might,  perhaps,  have  wished  her  a  trifle  larger. 
But  she  had  the  winning  charm  of  all  delicate  and 
mignonnes  women ;  and  her  figure  was  of  exquisite 
roundness,  and  her  dimpled  hands  were  those  of  an  in- 
fant. 

Alas !  these  attractive  exteriors  are  often  deceitful,  as 
much  and  even  more  so,  than  the  appearances  of  a 
man  like  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu. 

The  apparently  innocent  and  artless  young  girl  pos- 
sessed the  parched,  hollow  soul  of  an  experienced 
woman  of  the  world,  or  of  an  old  courtier.  She  had 
been  so  petted  at  the  convent,  in  the  capacity  of  only 
daughter  of  a  grand  seigneur  and  millionnaire ;  she  had 
been  surrounded  by  so  much  adulation,  that  all  her 
good  qualities  had  been  blighted  in  the  bud  by  the 
poisonous  breath  of  flattery. 

She  was  only  nineteen ;  and  still  it  was  impossible 
for  any  person  to  have  been  more  susceptible  to  the 


no         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

charms  of  wealth  and  of  satisfied  ambition.  She 
dreamed  of  a  position  at  court  as  a  school-girl  dreams 
of  a  lover. 

If  she  had  deigned  to  notice  Martial — for  she  had  re- 
marked him — it  was  only  because  her  father  had  told 
her  that  this  young  man  would  lift  his  wife  to  the  high- 
est sphere  of  power.  Thereupon  she  had  uttered  a 
"  very  well,  we  will  see !  "  that  would  have  changed  an 
enamoured  suitor's  love  into  disgust. 

Martial  advanced  a  few  steps,  and  Mile.  Blanche,  on 
seeing  him,  sprang  up  with  a  pretty  affectation  of  in- 
tense timidity. 

Bowing  low  before  her,  he  said,  gently,  and  with 
profound  deference : 

"  Monsieur  de  Courtornieu,  Mademoiselle,  was  so 
kind  as  to  tell  me  where  I  might  have  the  honor  of 
finding  you.  I  had  not  courage  to  brave  those  for- 
midable discussions  inside  ;  but " 

He  pointed  to  the  letter  the  young  girl  held  in  her 
hand,  and  added : 

"  But  I  fear  that  I  am  dc  trop." 

"  Oh !  not  in  the  least,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  al- 
though this  letter  which  I  have  just  been  reading  has, 
I  confess,  interested  me  deeply.  It  was  written  by  a 
poor  child  in  whom  I  have  taken  a  great  interest — 
whom  I  have  sent  for  sometimes  when  I  was  lonely — 
Marie-Anne  Lacheneur." 

Accustomed  from  his  infancy  to  the  hypocrisy  of 
drawing-rooms,  the  young  marquis  had  taught  his 
face  not  to  betray  his  feelings. 

He  could  have  laughed  gayly  with  anguish  at  his 
heart;  he  could  have  preserved  the  sternest  gravity 
when  inwardly  convulsed  with  merriment. 

And  yet,  this  name  of  Marie-Anne  upon  the  lips  of 
Mile,  de  Courtornieu,  caused  his  glance  to  waver. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME         in 

"  They  know  each  other !  "  he  thought. 

In  an  instant  he  was  himself  again ;  but  Mile. 
Blanche  had  perceived  his  momentary  agitation. 

"  What  can  it  mean  ?  "  she  wondered,  much  dis- 
turbed. 

Still,  it  was  with  the  perfect  assumption  of  innocence 
that  she  continued : 

"In  fact,  you  must  have  seen  her,  this  poor  Marie- 
Anne,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  since  her  father  was  the 
guardian  of  Sairmeuse?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  seen  her,  Mademoiselle,"  replied  Mar- 
tial, quietly. 

"  Is  she  not  remarkably  beautiful  ?  Her  beauty  is 
of  an  unusual  type,  it  quite  takes  one  by  surprise." 

A  fool  would  have  protested.  The  marquis  was  not 
guilty  of  this  folly. 

"  Yes,  she  is  very  beautiful,"  said  he. 

This  apparent  frankness  disconcerted  Mile.  Blanche 
a  trifle ;  and  it  was  with  an  air  of  hypocritical  compas- 
sion that  she  murmured : 

"  Poor  girl !  What  will  become  of  her  ?  Here  is 
her  father,  reduced  to  delving  in  the  ground." 

"  Oh !  you  exaggerate,  Mademoiselle ;  my  father 
will  always  preserve  Lacheneur  from  anything  of  that 
kind." 

"  Of  course — I  might  have  known  that — but  where 
ivill  he  find  a  husband  for  Marie- Anne?  " 

"  One  has  been  found  already.  I  understand  that 
she  is  to  marry  a  youth  in  the  neighborhood,  who  has 
some  property — a  certain  Chanlouineau." 

The  artless  school-girl  was  more  cunning  than  the 
marquis.  She  had  satisfied  herself  that  she  had  just 
grounds  for  her  suspicions ;  and  she  experienced  a 
certain  anger  on  finding  him  so  well  informed  in  regard 
'to  everything  that  concerned  Mile.  Lacheneur. 


ii2         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  And  do  you  believe  that  this  is  the  husband  of 
whom  she  had  dreamed  ?  Ah,  well  !  God  grant  that 
she  may  be  happy ;  for  we  were  very  fond  of  her,  very 
— were  we  not,  Aunt  Medea  ?  " 

Aunt  Medea  was  the  old  lady  seated  beside  Mile. 
Blanche. 

"  Yes,  very,"  she  replied. 

This  aunt,  or  cousin,  rather,  was  a  poor  relation 
whom  M.  de  Courtornieu  had  sheltered,  and  who  was 
forced  to  pay  dearly  for  her  bread  ;  since  Mile.  Blanche 
compelled  her  to  play  the  part  of  echo. 

"  It  grieves  me  to  see  these  friendly  relations,  which 
were  so  dear  to  me,  broken,"  resumed  Mile,  de  Cour- 
tornieu. "  But  listen  to  what  Marie-Anne  has  writ- 
ten." 

She  drew  from  her  belt  where  she  had  placed  it,  Mile. 
Lacheneur's  letter  and  read : 

"  '  MY  DEAR  BLANCHE — You  know  that  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse  has  returned.  The  news  fell  upon  us  like 
a  thunder-bolt.  My  father  and  I  had  become  too  much 
accustomed  to  regard  as  our  own  the  deposit  which 
had  been  intrusted  to  our  fidelity ;  we  have  been  pun- 
ished for  it.  At  least,  we  have  done  our  duty,  and  now 
all  is  ended.  She  whom  you  have  called  your  friend, 
will  be,  hereafter,  only  a  poor  peasant  girl,  as  her 
mother  was  before  her/  " 

The  most  subtle  observer  would  have  supposed  that 
Mile.  Blanche  was  experiencing  the  keenest  emotion. 
One  would  have  sworn  that  it  was  only  by  intense  ef- 
fort that  she  succeeded  in  restraining  her  tears — that 
they  were  even  trembling  behind  her  long  lashes. 

The  truth  was,  that  she  was  thinking  only  of  dis- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    113 

covering,  upon  Martial's  face,  some  indication  of  his 
feelings.  But  now  that  he  was  on  guard,  his  features 
might  have  been  marble  for  any  sign  of  emotion  they 
betrayed. 

So  she  continued: 

" '  I  should  utter  an  untruth  if  I  said  that  I  have  not 
suffered  on  account  of  this  sudden  change.  But  I  have 
courage  ;  I  shall  learn  how  to  submit.  I  shall,  I  hope, 
have  strength  to  forget,  for  I  must  forget  !  The  re- 
membrances of  past  felicity  would  render  my  present 
misery  intolerable.' " 

Mile,  de  Courtornieu  suddenly  folded  up  the  letter. 

"  You  have  heard  it,  Monsieur,"  said  she.  "  Can 
you  understand  such  pride  as  that  ?  And  they  ac- 
cuse us,  daughters  of  the  nobility,  of  being  proud  !  " 

Martial  made  no  response.  He  felt  that  his  altered 
voice  would  betray  him.  How  much  more  would  he 
have  been  moved,  if  he  had  been  allowed  to. read  the 
concluding  lines : 

"  One  must  live,  my  dear  Blanche,"  added  Marie- 
Anne,  "  and  I  feel  no  false  shame  in  asking  you  to  aid 
me.  I  sew  very  nicely,  as  you  know,  and  I  could  earn 
my  livelihood  by  embroidery  if  I  knew  more  people. 
I  will  call  to-day  at  Courtornieu  to  ask  you  to  give  me 
a  list  of  ladies  to  whom  I  can  present  myself  on  your 
recommendation." 

But  Mile,  de  Courtornieu  had  taken  good  care  not  to 
allude  to  the  touching  request.  She  had  read  the  let- 
ter to  Martial  as  a  test.  She  had  not  succeeded ;  so 
much  the  worse.  She  rose  and  accepted  his  arm  to 
return  to  the  house. 


ii4        THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her  friend,  and  she 
was  chatting  gayly.  When  they  approached  the 
chateau,  she  was  interrupted  by  a  sound  of  voices 
raised  to  the  highest  pitch. 

It  was  the  address  to  the  King  which  was  agitating 
the  council  convened  in  M.  de  Courtornieu's  cabinet. 

Mile.  Blanche  paused. 

"  I  am  trespassing  upon  your  kindness,  Monsieur. 
I  am  boring  you  with  my  silly  chat  when  you  should 
undoubtedly  be  up  there." 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  replied,  laughing.  "  What 
should  I  do  there  ?  The  role  of  men  of  action  does  not 
begin  until  the  orators  have  concluded." 

He  spoke  so  energetically,  in  spite  of  his  jesting 
tone,  that  Mile,  de  Courtornieu  was  fascinated.  She 
saw  before  her,  she  believed,  a  man  who,  as  her  father 
had  said,  would  rise  to  the  highest  position  in  the  politi- 
cal world. 

Unfortunately,  her  admiration  was  disturbed  by  a 
ring  of  the  great  bell  that  always  announces  visitors. 

She  trembled,  let  go  her  hold  on  Martial's  arm,  and 
said,  very  earnestly: 

"  Ah,  no  matter.  I  wish  very  much  to  know  what 
is  going  on  up  there.  If  I  ask  my  father,  he  will  laugh 
at  my  curiosity,  while  you,  Monsieur,  if  you  are  pres- 
ent at  the  conference,  you  will  tell  me  all." 

A  wish  thus  expressed  was  a  command.  The  mar- 
quis bowed  and  obeyed. 

"  She  dismisses  me,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  as- 
cended the  staircase,  "  nothing  could  be  more  evident ; 
and  that  without  much  ceremony.  Why  the  devil 
does  she  wish  to  get  rid  of  me  ?  " 

Why  ?  Because  a  single  peal  of  the  bell  announced 
a  visitor  for  Mile.  Blanche ;  because  she  was  expecting 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    115 

a  visit  from  her  friend ;  and  because  she  wished  at  any 
cost  to  prevent  a  meeting  between  Martial  and  Marie- 
Anne. 

She  did  not  love  him,  and  yet  an  agony  of  jealousy 
was  torturing  her.  Such  was  her  nature. 

Her  presentiments  were  realized.  It  was,  indeed, 
Mile.  Lacheneur  who  was  awaiting  her  in  the  drawing- 
room. 

The  poor  girl  was  paler  than  usual ;  but  nothing  in 
her  manner  betrayed  the  frightful  anguish  she  had  suf- 
fered during  the  past  two  or  three  days. 

And  her  voice,  in  asking  from  her  former  friend  a 
list  of  "  customers,"  was  as  calm  and  as  natural  as  in 
other  days,  when  she  was  asking  her  to  come  and  spend 
an  afternoon  at  Sairmeuse. 

So,  when  the  two  girls  embraced  each  other,  their 
roles  were  reversed. 

It  was  Marie-Anne  who  had  been  crushed  by  mis- 
fortune ;  it  was  Mile.  Blanche  who  wept. 

But,  while  writing  a  list  of  the  names  of  persons  in 
the  neighborhood  with  whom  she  was  acquainted, 
Mile,  de  Courtornieu  did  not  neglect  this  favorable  op- 
portunity for  verifying  the  suspicions  which  had  been 
aroused  by  Martial's  momentary  agitation. 

"  It  is  inconceivable,"  she  remarked  to  her  friend, 
"  that  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  should  allow  you  to  be 
reduced  to  such  an  extremity." 

Marie-Anne's  nature  was  so  royal,  that  she  did  not 
wish  an  unjust  accusation  to  rest  even  upon  the  man 
who  had  treated  her  father  so  cruelly. 

"  The  duke  is  not  to  blame,"  she  replied,  gently ; 
"  he  offered  us  a  very  considerable  sum,  this  morning, 
through  his  son." 

Mile.  Blanche  started  as  if  a  viper  had  stung  her. 


n6         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  So  you  have  seen  the  marquis,  Marie- Anne  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Has  he  been  to  your  house?  " 

"  He  was  going  there,  when  he  met  me  in  the  grove 
on  the  waste." 

She  blushed  as  she  spoke;  she  turned  crimson  at 
the  thought  of  Martial's  impertinent  gallantry. 

This  girl  who  had  just  emerged  from  a  convent  was 
terribly  experienced ;  but  she  misunderstood  the  cause 
of  Marie-Anne's  confusion.  She  could  dissimulate, 
however,  and  when  Marie-Anne  went  away,  Mile. 
Blanche  embraced  her  with  every  sign  of  the  most 
ardent  affection.  But  she  was  almost  suffocated  with 
rage. 

"  What  !  "  she  thought ;  "  they  have  met  but  once, 
and  yet  they  are  so  strongly  impressed  with  each  other ! 
Do  they  love  each  other  already  ?" 


CHAPTER   XIV 

If  Martial  had  faithfully  reported  to  Mile.  Blanche 
all  that  he  heard  in  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu's  cabi- 
net, he  would  probably  have  astonished  her  a  little. 

He,  himself,  if  he  had  sincerely  confessed  his  im- 
pressions and  his  reflections,  would  have  been  obliged 
to  admit  that  he  was  greatly  amazed. 

But  this  unfortunate  man,  who,  in  days  to  come, 
would  be  compelled  to  reproach  himself  bitterly  for 
the  excess  of  his  fanaticism,  refused  to  confess  this 
truth  even  to  himself.  His  life  was  to  be  spent  in  de- 
fending prejudices  which  his  own  reason  condemned. 

Forced  by  Mile.  Blanche's  will  into  the  midst  of  a 
discussion,  he  was  really  disgusted  with  the  ridicu- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    117 

lous  and  intense  greediness  of  M.  de  Courtornieu's 
noble  guests. 

Decorations,  fortune,  honors,  power — they  desired 
everything. 

They  were  satisfied  that  their  pure  devotion  deserved 
the  most  munificent  rewards.  It  was  only  the  most 
modest  who  declared  that  he  would  be  content  with  the 
epaulets  of  a  lieutenant-general. 

Many  were  the  recriminations,  stinging  words,  and 
bitter  reproaches. 

The  Marquis  de  Courtornieu,  who  acted  as  president 
of  the  council,  was  nearly  exhausted  with  exclaiming : 

"  Be  calm,  gentlemen,  be  calm !  A  little  modera- 
tion, if  you  please !  " 

"  All  these  men  are  mad,"  thought  Martial,  with 
difficulty  restraining  an  intense  desire  to  laugh ;  "  they 
are  insane  enough  to  be  placed  in  a  mad-house." 

But  he  was  not  obliged  to  render  a  report  of  the 
seance.  The  deliberations  were  soon  fortunately  inter- 
rupted by  a  summons  to  dinner. 

Mile.  Blanche,  when  the  young  marquis  rejoined 
her,  quite  forgot  to  question  him  about  the  doings  of 
the  council. 

In  fact,  what  did  the  hopes  and  plans  of  these  people 
matter  to  her. 

She  cared  very  little  about  them  or  about  the  people 
themselves,  since  they  were  below  her  father  in  rank, 
and  most  of  them  were  not  as  rich. 

An  absorbing  thought — a  thought  of  her  future,  and 
of  her  happiness,  filled  her  mind  to  the  exclusion  of 
all  other  subjects. 

The  few  moments  that  she  had  passed  alone,  after 
Marie- Anne's  departure,  she  had  spent  in  grave  reflec- 
tion. 


n8         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

Martial's  mind  and  person  pleased  her.  In  him 
were  combined  all  the  qualifications  which  any  am- 
bitious woman  would  desire  in  a  husband — and  she  de- 
cided that  he  should  be  her  husband.  Probably  she 
would  not  have  arrived  at  this  conclusion  so  quickly, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  feeling  of  jealousy  aroused  in 
her  heart.  But  from  the  very  moment  that  she  could 
believe  or  suspect  that  another  woman  was  likely  to 
dispute  the  possession  of  Martial  with  her,  she  desired 
him. 

From  that  moment  she  was  completely  controlled 
by  one  of  those  strange  passions  in  which  the  heart 
has  no  part,  but  which  take  entire  possession  of  the 
brain  and  lead  to  the  worst  of  follies. 

Let  the  woman  whose  pulse  has  never  quickened  its 
beating  under  the  influence  of  this  counterfeit  of  love, 
cast  the  first  stone. 

That  she  could  be  vanquished  in  this  struggle  for 
supremacy ;  that  there  could  be  any  doubt  of  the  re- 
sult, were  thoughts  which  never  once  entered  the  mind 
of  Mile.  Blanche. 

She  had  been  told  so  often,  it  had  been  repeated 
again  and  again,  that  the  man  whom  she  would  choose 
must  esteem  himself  fortunate  above  all  others. 

She  had  seen  her  father  besieged  by  so  many  suitors 
for  her  hand. 

"  Besides,"  she  thought,  smiling  proudly,  as  she  sur- 
veyed her  reflection  in  the  large  mirrors ;  "  am  I  not  as 
pretty  as  Marie- Anne  ?  " 

"  Far  prettier !  "  murmured  the  voice  of  vanity ; 
"  and  you  possess  what  your  rival  does  not :  birth,  wit, 
the  genius  of  coquetry !  " 

She  did,  indeed,  possess  sufficient  cleverness  and  pa- 
tience to  assume  and  to  sustain  the  character  which 
seemed  most  likely  to  dazzle  and  to  fascinate  Martial. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    119 

As  to  maintaining  this  character  after  marriage,  if  it 
did  not  please  her  to  do  so,  that  was  another  matter ! 

The  result  of  all  this  was  that  during  dinner  Mile. 
Blanche  exercised  all  her  powers  of  fascination  upon 
the  young  marquis. 

She  was  so  evidently  desirous  of  pleasing  him  that 
several  of  the  guests  remarked  it. 

Some  were  even  shocked  by  such  a  breach  of  con- 
ventionality. But  Blanche  de  Courtornieu  could  do 
as  she  chose;  she  was  well  aware  of  that.  Was  she 
not  the  richest  heiress  for  miles  and  miles  around  ?  No 
slander  can  tarnish  the  brilliancy  of  a  fortune  of  more 
than  a  million  in  hard  cash. 

"  Do  you  know  that  those  two  young  people  will 
have  a  joint  income  of  between  seven  and  eight  hun- 
dred thousand  francs ! "  said  one  old  viscount  to  his 
neighbor. 

Martial  yielded  unresistingly  to  the  charm  of  his 
position. 

How  could  he  suspect  unworthy  motives  in  a  young 
girl  whose  eyes  were  so  pure,  whose  laugh  ran£  out 
with  the  crystalline  clearness  of  childhood ! 

Involuntarily  he  compared  her  with  the  grave  and 
thoughtful  Marie-Anne,  and  his  imagination  floated 
from  one  to  the  other,  inflamed  by  the  strangeness  of 
the  contrast. 

He  occupied  a  seat  beside  Mile.  Blanche  at  table; 
and  they  chatted  gayly,  amusing  themselves  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  other  guests,  who  were  again  conversing 
upon  political  matters,  and  whose  enthusiasm  waxed 
warmer  and  warmer  as  course  succeeded  course. 

Champagne  was  served  with  the  dessert;  and  the 
company  drank  to  the  allies  whose  victorious  bayonets 
had  forced  a  passage  for  the  King  to  return  to  Paris ; 


120         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

they  drank  to  the  English,  to  the  Prussians,  and  to  the 
Russians,  whose  horses  were  trampling  the  crops  under 
foot. 

The  name  of  D'Escorval  heard,  above  the  clink  of  the 
glasses,  suddenly  aroused  Martial  from  his  dream  of 
enchantment. 

An  old  gentleman  had  just  risen,  and  proposed  that 
active  measures  should  be  taken  to  rid  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  Baron  d'Escorval. 

"  The  presence  of  such  a  man  dishonors  our  coun- 
try," said  he,  "  he  is  a  frantic  Jacobin,  and  admitted  to 
be  dangerous,  since  Monsieur  Fouche  has  him  upon 
his  list  of  suspected  persons ;  and  he  is  even  now  under 
the  surveillance  of  the  police." 

This  discourse  could  not  have  failed  to  arouse  in- 
tense anxiety  in  M.  d'Escorval's  breast  had  he  seen 
the  ferocity  expressed  on  almost  every  face. 

Still  no  one  spoke :  hesitation  could  be  read  in  every 
eye. 

Martial,  too,  had  turned  so  white  that  Mile.  Blanche 
remarked  his  pallor  and  thought  he  was  ill. 

In  fact,  a  terrible  struggle  was  going  on  in  the  soul 
of  the  young  marquis ;  a  conflict  between  his  honor 
and  passion. 

Had  he  not  longed  only  a  few  hours  before  to  find 
some  way  of  driving  Maurice  from  the  country  ? 

Ah,  well !  the  opportunity  he  so  ardently  desired  now 
presented  itself.  It  was  impossible  to  imagine  a  better 
one.  If  the  proposed  step  was  taken  the  Baron  d'Es- 
corval and  his  family  would  be  forced  to  leave  France 
forever ! 

The  company  hesitated ;  Martial  saw  it,  and  felt  that 
a  single  word  from  him,  for  or  against,  would  decide 
the  matter. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    121 

After  a  few  minutes  of  frightful  uncertainty,  honor 
triumphed. 

He  rose  and  declared  that  the  proposed  measure  was 
bad — impolitic. 

"  Monsieur  d'Escorval,"  he  remarked,  "  is  one  of 
those  men  who  diffuse  around  them  a  perfume  of 
honesty  and  justice.  Have  the  good  sense  to  respect 
the  consideration  which  is  justly  his." 

As  he  had  foreseen,  his  words  decided  the^  matter. 
The  cold  and  haughty  manner  which  he  knew  so  well 
how  to  assume,  his  few  but  incisive  words,  produced  a 
great  effect. 

"  It  would  evidently  be  a  great  mistake !  "  was  the 
general  cry. 

Martial  reseated  himself;  Mile.  Blanche  leaned 
toward  him. 

"  You  have  done  well,"  she  murmured ;  "  you  know 
how  to  defend  your  friends." 

"  Monsieur  d'Escorval  is  not  my  friend,"  replied 
Martial,  in  a  voice  which  revealed  the  struggle  through 
which  he  had  passed.  "  The  injustice  of  the  proposed 
measure  incensed  me,  that  is  all." 

Mile,  de  Courtornieu  was  not  to  be  deceived  by  an 
explanation  like  this.  Still  she  added : 

"  Then  your  conduct  is  all  the  more  grand,  Mon- 
sieur." 

But  such  was  not  the  opinion  of  the  Due  de  Sair- 
meuse.  On  returning  to  the  chateau  some  hours  later 
he  reproached  his  son  for  his  intervention. 

"  Why  the  devil  did  you  meddle  with  the  matter  ?  " 
inquired  the  duke.  "  I  would  not  have  liked  to  take 
upon  myself  the  odium  of  the  proposition,  but  since  it 
had  been  made " 

"  I  was  anxious  to  prevent  such  an  act  of  useless 
folly!" 


122         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  Useless  folly !   Zounds !   Marquis,  you  carry  mat- 
ters with  a  high  hand.    Do  you  think  that  this  d— d 

baron  adores  you  ?     What  would  you  say  if  you  heard 
that  he  was  conspiring  against  us  ?  " 

"  I  should  answer  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders." 
"  You  would !     Very  well ;  do  me  the  favor  to  ques- 
tion Chupin." 


CHAPTER  XV 

It  was  only  two  weeks  since  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse 
had  returned  to  France ;  he  had  not  yet  had  time  to 
shake  the  dust  of  exile  from  his  feet,  and  already  his 
imagination  saw  enemies  on  every  side. 

He  had  been  at  Sairmeuse  only  two  days,  and  yet  he 
unhesitatingly  accepted  the  venomous  reports  which 
Chupin  poured  into  his  ears. 

The  suspicions  which  he  was  endeavoring  to  make 
Martial  share  were  cruelly  unjust. 

At  the  moment  when  the  duke  accused  the  baron  of 
conspiring  against  the  house  of  Sairmeuse,  that  unfort- 
unate man  was  weeping  at  the  bedside  of  his  son,  who 
was,  he  believed,  at  the  point  of  death. 

Maurice  was  indeed  dangerously  ill. 

His  excessively  nervous  organization  had  suc- 
cumbed before  the  rude  assaults  of  destiny. 

When,  in  obedience  to  M.  Lacheneur's  imperative 
order,  he  left  the  grove  on  the  Reche,  he  lost  the 
power  of  reflecting  calmly  and  deliberately  upon  the 
situation. 

Marie-Anne's  incomprehensible  obstinacy,  the  in- 
sults he  had  received  from  the  marquis,  and  Lache- 
neur's feigned  anger  were  mingled  in  inextricable  con- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    123 

fusion,  forming  one  immense,  intolerable  misfortune, 
too  crushing  for  his  powers  of  resistance. 

The  peasants  who  met  him  on  his  homeward  way 
were  struck  by  his  singular  demeanor,  and  felt  con- 
vinced that  some  great  catastrophe  had  just  befallen 
the  house  of  the  Baron  d'Escorval. 

Some  bowed ;  others  spoke  to  him,  but  he  did  not 
see  or  hear  them. 

Force  of  habit — that  physical  memory  which 
mounts  guard  when  the  mind  is  far  away — brought 
him  back  to  his  home. 

His  features  were  so  distorted  with  suffering  that 
Mme.  d'Escorval,  on  seeing  him,  was  seized  with  a 
most  sinister  presentiment,  and  dared  not  address  him. 

He  spoke  first. 

"All  is  over !  "  he  said,  hoarsely,  "  but  do  not  be  wor- 
ried, mother ;  I  have  some  courage,  as  you  shall  see." 

He  did,  in  fact,  seat  himself  at  the  table  with  a  reso- 
lute air.  He  ate  even  more  than  usual ;  and  his  father 
noticed,  without  alluding  to  it,  that  he  drank  much 
more  wine  than  usual. 

He  was  very  pale,  his  eyes  glittered,  his  gestures 
were  excited,  and  his  voice  was  husky.  He  talked  a 
great  deal,  and  even  jested. 

"  Why  will  he  not  weep,"  thought  Mme.  d'Escorval ; 
"  then  I  should  not  be  so  much  alarmed,  and  I  could 
try  to  comfort  him." 

This  was  Maurice's  last  effort.  When  dinner  was 
over  he  went  to  his  room,  and  when  his  mother,  who 
had  gone  again  and  again  to  listen  at  his  door,  finally 
decided  to  enter  his  chamber,  she  found  him  lying  upon 
the  bed,  muttering  incoherently. 

She  approached  him.  He  did  not  appear  to  recog- 
nize or  even  to  see  her.  She  spoke  to  him.  He  did 


i24         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

not  seem  to  hear.  His  face  was  scarlet,  his  lips  were 
parched.  She  took  his  hand  ;  it  was  burning;  and  still 
he  was  shivering,  and  his  teeth  were  chattering  as  if 
with  cold. 

A  mist  swam  before  the  eyes  of  the  poor  woman ; 
she  feared  she  was  about  to  faint ;  but,  summoning  all 
her  strength,  she  conquered  her  weakness  and,  drag- 
ging herself  to  the  staircase,  she  cried : 

"  Help  !  help !     My  son  is  dying!  " 

With  a  bound  M.  d'Escorval  reached  his  son's  cham- 
ber, looked  at  him  and  dashed  out  again,  summoned  a 
servant,  and  ordered  him  to  gallop  to  Montaignac  and 
bring  a  physician  without  a  moment's  delay. 

There  was,  indeed,  a  doctor  at  Sairmeuse,  but  he 
was  the  most  stupid  of  men — a  former  surgeon  in  the 
army,  who  had  been  dismissed  for  incompetency.  The 
peasants  shunned  him  as  they  would  the  plague ;  and 
in  case  of  sickness  always  sent  for  the  cure.  M.  d'Es- 
corval followed  their  example,  knowing  that  the  physi- 
cian from  Montaignac  could  not  arrive  until  nearly 
morning. 

Abbe  Midon  had  never  frequented  the  medical 
schools,  but  since  he  had  been  a  priest  the  poor  so  often 
asked  advice  of  him  that  he  applied  himself  to  the  study 
of  medicine,  and,  aided  by  experience,  he  had  acquired 
a  knowledge  of  the  art  which  would  have  won  him  a 
diploma  from  the  faculty  anywhere. 

At  whatever  hour  of  the  day  or  night  parishioners 
came  to  ask  his  assistance,  he  was  always  ready — his 
only  answer:  "  Let  us  go  at  once." 

And  when  the  people  of  the  neighborhood  met  him 
on  the  road  with  his  little  box  of  medicine  slung  over 
his  shoulder,  they  took  off  their  hats  respectfully  and 
stood  aside  to  let  him  pass.  Those  who  did  not  re- 
spect the  priest  honored  the  man. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    125 

For  M.  d'Escorval,  above  all  others,  Abbe  Midon 
would  make  haste.  The  baron  was  his  friend ;  and  a 
terrible  apprehension  seized  him  when  he  saw  Mme. 
d'Escorval  at  the  gate  watching  for  him.  By  the  way 
in  which  she  rushed  to  meet  him,  he  thought  she  was 
about  to  announce  some  irreparable  misfortune.  But 
no — she  took  his  hand,  and,  without  uttering  a  word, 
she  led  him  to  her  son's  chamber. 

The  condition  of  the  poor  youth  was  really  very  criti- 
cal ;  the  abbe  perceived  this  at  a  glance,  but  it  was  not 
hopeless. 

"  We  will  get  him  out  of  this,"  he  said,  with  a  smile 
that  reawakened  hope. 

And  with  the  coolness  of  an  old  practitioner,  he  bled 
him  freely,  and  ordered  applications  of  ice  to  his  head. 

In  a  moment  all  the  household  were  busied  in  ful- 
filling the  cure's  orders.  He  took  advantage  of  the  op- 
portunity to  draw  the  baron  aside  in  the  embrasure  of 
a  window. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  A  disappointment  in  love,"  M.  d'Escorval  replied, 
with  a  despairing  gesture.  "  Monsieur  Lacheneur  has 
refused  the  hand  of  his  daughter,  which  I  asked  in  be- 
half of  my  son.  Maurice  was  to  have  seen  Marie- 
Anne  to-day.  What  passed  between  them  I  do  not 
know.  The  result  you  see." 

The  baroness  re-entered  the  room,  and  the  two  men 
said  no  more.  A  truly  funereal  silence  pervaded  the 
apartment,  broken  only  by  the  moans  of  Maurice. 

His  excitement  instead  of  abating  had  increased  in 
violence.  Delirium  peopled  his  brain  with  phantoms ; 
and  the  name  of  Marie-Anne,  Martial  de  Sairmeuse, 
and  Chanlouineau  dropped  so  incoherently  from  his 
lips  that  it  was  impossible  to  read  his  thoughts. 


iz6         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

How  long  that  night  seemed  to  M.  d'Escorval  and 
his  wife,  those  only  know  who  have  counted  each  sec- 
ond beside  the  sick-bed  of  some  loved  one. 

Certainly  their  confidence  in  the  companion  in  their 
vigil  was  great;  but  he  was  not  a  regular  physician 
like  the  other,  the  one  whose  coming  they  awaited. 

Just  as  the  light  of  the  morning  made  the  candles 
turn  pale,  they  heard  the  furious  gallop  of  a  horse,  and 
soon  the  doctor  from  Montaignac  entered. 

He  examined  Maurice  carefully,  and,  after  a  short 
conference  with  the  priest: 

"  I  see  no  immediate  danger,"  he  declared.  "  All 
that  can  be  done  has  been  done.  The  malady  must  be 
allowed  to  take  its  course.  I  will  return." 

He  did  return  the  next  day  and  many  days  after,  for 
it  was  not  until  a  week  had  passed  that  Maurice  was 
declared  out  of  danger. 

Then  he  confided  to  his  father  all  that  had  taken 
place  in  the  grove  on  the  Reche.  The  slightest  detail 
of  the  scene  had  engraved  itself  indelibly  upon  his 
memory.  When  the  recital  was  ended: 

"  Are  you  quite  sure,"  asked  his  father,  "  that  you 
correctly  understood  Marie-Anne's  reply?  Did  she 
tell  you  that  if  her  father  gave  his  consent  to  your  mar- 
riage, she  would  refuse  hers  ?  " 

"  Those  were  her  very  words." 

"  And  still  she  loves  you?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  You  were  not  mistaken  in  Monsieur  Lacheneur's 
tone  when  he  said  to  you :  '  Go,  you  little  wretch  !  do 
you  wish  to  render  all  my  precautions  useless  ?  ' ' 

"  No." 

M.  d'Escorval  sat  for  a  moment  in  silence. 

"  This  passes  comprehension,"  he  murmured  at 
last. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    127 

And  so  low  that  his  son  could  not  hear  him,  he  added : 
"  I  will  see  Lacheneur  to-morrow ;    this  mystery 
must  be  explained." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

The  cottage  where  M.  Lacheneur  had  taken  refuge 
was  situated  on  a  hill  overlooking  the  water. 

It  was,  as  he  had  said,  a  small  and  humble  dwelling, 
but  it  was  rather  less  miserable  than  the  abodes  of  most 
of  the  peasants  of  the  district. 

It  was  only  one  story  high,  but  it  was  divided  into 
three  rooms,  and  the  roof  was  covered  with  thatch. 

In  front  was  a  tiny  garden,  in  which  a  few  fruit-trees, 
some  withered  cabbages,  and  a  vine  which  covered  the 
cottage  to  the  roof,  managed  to  find  subsistence. 

This  garden  was  a  mere  nothing,  but  even  this  slight 
conquest  over  the  sterility  of  the  soil  had  cost  Lache- 
neur's  deceased  aunt  almost  unlimited  courage  and 
patience. 

For  more  than  twenty  years  the  poor  woman  had 
never,  for  a  single  day,  failed  to  throw  upon  her  garden 
three  or  four  basketfuls  of  richer  soil,  which  she  was 
obliged  to  bring  more  than  half  a  league. 

It  had  been  more  than  a  year  since  she  died ;  but  the 
little  pathway  which  her  patient  feet  had  worn  in  the 
performance  of  this  daily  task  was  still  distinctly  vis- 
ible. 

This  was  the  path  which  M.  d'Escorval,  faithful  to 
his  resolution,  took  the  following  day,  in  the  hope  of 
wresting  from  Marie-Anne's  father  the  secret  of  his  in- 
explicable conduct. 

He  was  so  engrossed  in  his  own  thoughts  that  he 
failed  to  notice  the  overpowering  heat  as  he  climbed 


128        THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

the  rough  hill-side  in  the  full  glare  of  the  noonday 
sun. 

When  he  reached  the  summit,  however,  he  paused 
to  take  breath  ;  and  while  wiping  the  perspiration  from 
his  brow,  he  turned  to  look  back  on  the  road  which  he 
had  traversed. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  visited  the  spot,  and  he 
was  surprised  at  the  extent  of  the  landscape  which 
stretched  before  him. 

From  this  point,  which  is  the  most  elevated  in  the 
surrounding  country,  one  can  survey  the  entire  valley 
of  the  Oiselle,  and  discern,  in  the  distance,  the  redoubt- 
able citadel  of  Montaignac,  built  upon  an  almost  inac- 
cessible rock. 

This  last  circumstance,  which  the  baron  was  after- 
ward doomed  to  recall  in  the  midst  of  the  most  terrible 
scenes,  did  not  strike  him  then.  Lacheneur's  house 
absorbed  all  his  attention. 

His  imagination  pictured  vividly  the  sufferings  of 
this  unfortunate  man,  who,  only  two  days  before,  had 
relinquished  the  splendors  of  the  Chateau  de  Sair- 
meuse  to  repair  to  this  wretched  abode. 

He  rapped  at  the  door  of  the  cottage. 

"  Come  in !  "  said  a  voice. 

The  baron  lifted  the  latch  and  entered. 

The  room  was  small,  with  unwhitewashed  walls,  but 
with  no  other  floor  than  the  ground ;  no  ceiling  save 
the  thatch  that  formed  the  roof. 

A  bed,  a  table  and  two  wooden  benches  constituted 
the  entire  furniture. 

Seated  upon  a  stool,  near  the  tiny  window,  sat 
Marie-Anne,  busily  at  work  upon  a  piece  of  em- 
broidery. 

She  had  abandoned  her  former  mode  of  dress,  and 
her  costume  was  that  worn  by  the  peasant  girls. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    129 

When  M.  d'Escorval  entered  she  rose,  and  for  a 
moment  they  remained  silently  standing,  face  to  face, 
she  apparently  calm,  he  visibly  agitated. 

He  was  looking  at  Marie-Anne ;  and  she  seemed  to 
him  transfigured.  She  was  much  paler  and  consider- 
ably thinner ;  but  her  beauty  had  a  strange  and  touch- 
ing charm — the  sublime  radiance  of  heroic  resignation 
and  of  duty  nobly  fulfilled. 

Still,  remembering  his  son,  he  was  astonished  to  see 
this  tranquillity. 

"  You  do  not  ask  me  for  news  of  Maurice,"  he  said, 
reproachfully. 

"  I  had  news  of  him  this  morning,  Monsieur,  as  I 
have  had  every  day.  I  know  that  he  is  improving; 
and  that,  since  day  before  yesterday,  he  has  been  al- 
lowed to  take  a  little  nourishment." 

"  You  have  not  forgotten  him,  then  ?  " 

She  trembled ;  a  faint  blush  suffused  throat  and 
forehead,  but  it  was  in  a  calm  voice  that  she  replied : 

"  Maurice  knows  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  me 
to  forget  him,  even  if  I  wished  to  do  so." 

"  And  yet  you  have  told  him  that  you  approve  your 
father's  decision  L" 

"  I  told  him  so,  Monsieur,  and  I  shall  have  the  cour- 
age to  repeat  it." 

"  But  you  have  made  Maurice  wretched,  unhappy, 
child ;  he  has  almost  died." 

She  raised  her  head  proudly,  sought  M.  d'Escorval's 
eyes,  and  when  she  had  found  them : 

"  Look  at  me,  Monsieur.  Do  you  think  that  I,  too, 
do  not  suffer?" 

M.  d'Escorval  was  abashed  for  a  moment;  but  re1*- 
covering  himself,  he  took   Marie-Anne's   hand,  and 
pressing  it  affectionately,  he  said : 
9 


130         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  So  Maurice  loves  you ;  you  love  him  ;  you  suffer ; 
he  has  nearly  died,  and  still  you  reject  him !  " 

"  It  must  be  so,  Monsieur." 

"  You  say  this,  my  dear  child — you  say  this,  and 
you  undoubtedly  believe  it.  But  I,  who  have  sought 
to  discover  the  necessity  of  this  immense  sacrifice,  have 
failed  to  find  it.  Explain  to  me,  then,  why  this  must 
be  so,  Marie-Anne.  Who  knows  but  you  are  fright- 
ened by  chimeras,  which  my  experience  can  scatter 
with  a  breath  ?  Have  you  no  confidence  in  me  ?  Am 
I  not  an  old  friend  ?  It  may  be  that  your  father,  in  his 
despair,  has  adopted  extreme  resolutions.  Speak,  let 
us  combat  them  together.  Lacheneur  knows  how  de- 
votedly I  am  attached  to  him.  I  will  speak  to  him ;  .he 
will  listen  to  me." 

"  I  can  tell  you  nothing,  Monsieur." 

"  What !  you  are  so  cruel  as  to  remain  inflexible 
when  a  father  entreats  you  on  his  knees — a  father  who 
says  to  you :  '  Marie- Anne,  you  hold  in  your  hands  the 
happiness,  the  life,  the  reason  of  my  son ' ' 

Tears  glittered  in  Marie-Anne's  eyes,  but  she  drew 
away  her  hand. 

"  Ah !  it  is  you  who  are  cruel,  Monsieur ;  it  is  you 
who  are  without  pity.  Do  you  not  see  what  I  suffer, 
and  that  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  endure  further  tort- 
ure ?  No,  I  have  nothing  to  tell  you ;  there  is  noth- 
ing you  can  say  to  my  father.  Why  do  you  seek  to 
impair  my  courage  when  I  require  it  all  to  struggle 
against  my  despair?  Maurice  must  forget  me;  he 
must  never  see  me  again.  This  is  fate;  and  he  must 
not  fight  against  it.  It  would  be  folly.  We  are  part- 
ed forever.  Beseech  Maurice  to  leave  the  country,  and 
if  he  refuses,  you,  who  are  his  father,  must  command 
him  to  do  so.  And  you,  too,  Monsieur,  in  Heaven's 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    131 

name,  flee  from  us.  We  shall  bring  misfortune  upon 
you.  Never  return  here ;  our  house  is  accursed.  The 
fate  that  overshadows  us  will  ruin  you  also." 

She  spoke  almost  wildly.  Her  voice  was  so  loud 
that  it  penetrated  an  adjoining  room. 

The  communicating  door  opened  and  M.  Lacheneur 
appeared  upon  the  threshold. 

At  the  sight  of  M.  d'Escorval  he  uttered  an  oath. 
But  there  was  more  sorrow  and  anxiety  than  anger  in 
his  manner,  as  he  said : 

"  You,  Monsieur,  you  here !  " 

The  consternation  into  which  Marie-Anne's  words 
had  thrown  M.  d'Escorval  was  so  intense  that  it  was 
with  great  difficulty  he  stammered  out  a  response. 

"  You  have  abandoned  us  entirely ;  I  was  anxious 
about  you.  Have  you  forgotten  our  old  friendship? 
I  come  to  you " 

The  brow  of  the  former  master  of  Sairmeuse  re- 
mained overcast. 

"  Why  did  you  not  inform  me  of  the  honor  that  the 
baron  had  done  me,  Marie- Anne  ?  "  he  said  sternly. 

She  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not;  and  it  was  the 
baron  who  replied : 

"  Why,  I  have  but  just  come,  my  dear  friend." 

M.  Lacheneur  looked  suspiciously,  first  at  his 
daughter,  then  at  the  baron. 

"  What  did  they  say  to  each  other  while  they  were 
alone  ?  "  he  was  evidently  wondering. 

But,  however  great  may  have  been  his  disquietude, 
he  seemed  to  master  it ;  and  it  was  with  his  old-time 
affability  of  manner  that  he  invited  M.  d'Escorval  to 
follow  him  into  the  adjoining  room. 

"  It  is  my  reception-room  and  my  cabinet  com- 
bined," he  said,  smiling. 


i32         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

This  room,  which  was  much  larger  than  the  first, 
was  as  scantily  furnished ;  but  it  contained  several 
piles  of  small  books  and  an  infinite  number  of  tiny 
packages. 

Two  men  were  engaged  in  arranging  and  sorting 
these  articles. 

One  was  Chanlouineau. 

M.  d'Escorval  did  not  remember  that  he  had  ever 
seen  the  other,  who  was  a  young  man. 

"  This  is  my  son,  Jean,  Monsieur,"  said  Lacheneur. 
"  He  has  changed  since  you  last  saw  him  ten  years 
ago." 

It  was  true.  It  had  been,  at  least,  ten  years  since 
the  baron  had  seen  Lacheneur's  son. 

How  time  flies !  He  had  left  him  a  boy ;  he  found 
him  a  man. 

Jean  was  just  twenty ;  but  his  haggard  features  and 
his  precocious  beard  made  him  appear  much  older. 

He  was  tall  and  well  formed,  and  his  face  indicated 
more  than  average  intelligence. 

Still  he  did  not  impress  one  favorably.  His  restless 
eyes  were  always  invading  yours;  and  his  smile  be- 
trayed an  unusual  degree  of  shrewdness,  amounting 
almost  to  cunning. 

As  his  father  presented  him,  he  bowed  profoundly ; 
but  he  was  very  evidently  out  of  temper. 

M.  Lacheneur  resumed : 

"  Having  no  longer  the  means  to  maintain  Jean  in 
Paris,  I  have  made  him  return.  My  ruin  will,  perhaps, 
be  a  blessing  to  him.  The  air  of  great  cities  is  not 
good  for  the  son  of  a  peasant.  Fools  that  we  are,  we 
send  them  there  to  teach  them  to  rise  above  their 
fathers.  But  they  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  They 
think  only  of  degrading  themselves." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    133 

"  Father,"  interrupted  the  young  man ;  "  father, 
wait,  at  least,  until  we  are  alone !  " 

"  Monsieur  d'Escorval  is  not  a  stranger." 

Chanlouineau  evidently  sided  with  the  son,  since  he 
made  repeated  signs  to  M.  Lacheneur  to  be  silent. 

Either  he  did  not  see  them,  or  he  pretended  not  to 
see  them,  for  he  continued : 

"  I  must  have  wearied  you,  Monsieur,  by  telling  you 
again  and  again :  '  I  am  pleased  with  my  son.  He  has 
a  commendable  ambition ;  he  is  working  faithfully ; 
he  will  succeed.'  Ah!  I  was  a  poor,  foolish  father! 
The  friend  who  carried  Jean  the  order  to  return  has 
enlightened  me,  to  my  sorrow.  This  model  young 
man  you  see  here  left  the  gaming-house  only  to  run  to 
public  balls.  He  was  in  love  with  a  wretched  little 
ballet-girl  in  some  low  theatre ;  and  to  please  this  creat- 
ure, he  also  went  upon  the  stage,  with  his  face  painted 
red  and  white." 

"  To  appear  upon  the  stage  is  not  a  crime." 

"  No ;  but  it  is  a  crime  to  deceive  one's  father  and 
to  affect  virtues  which  one  does  not  possess!  Have 
I  ever  refused  you  money?  No.  Notwithstanding 
that,  you  have  contracted  debts  everywhere,  and  you 
owe  at  least  twenty  thousand  francs." 

Jean  hung  his  head ;  he  was  evidently  angry,  but  he 
feared  his  father. 

"  Twenty  thousand  francs !  "  repeated  M.  Lache- 
neur. "  I  had  them  a  fortnight  ago ;  now  I  have  noth- 
ing. I  can  hope  to  obtain  this  sum  only  through  the 
generosity  of  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  and  his  son." 

These  words  from  Lacheneur's  lips  astonished  the 
baron. 

Lacheneur  perceived  it,  and  it  was  with  every  ap- 
pearance of  sincerity  and  good  faith  that  he  resumed : 


i34        THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  Does  what  I  say  surprise  you  ?  I  understand  why. 
My  anger  at  first  made  me  give  utterance  to  all  sorts 
of  absurd  threats.  But  I  am  calm  now,  and  I  realize 
my  injustice.  What  could  I  expect  the  duke  to  do? 
To  make  me  a  present  of  Sairmeuse  ?  He  was  a  trifle 
brusque,  I  confess,  but  that  is  his  way ;  at  heart  he  is 
the  best  of  men." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  again  ?  " 

"  No;  but  I  have  seen  his  son.  I  have  even  been 
with  him  to  the  chateau  to  designate  the  articles  which 
I  desire  to  keep.  Oh !  he  refused  me  nothing.  Ev- 
erything was  placed  at  my  disposal — everything.  I 
selected  what  I  wished — furniture,  clothing,  linen.  It 
is  all  to  be  brought  here ;  and  I  shall  be  quite  a  grand 
seigneur." 

"  Why  not  seek  another  house?     This " 

"  This  pleases  me,  Monsieur.  Its  situation  suits  me 
perfectly." 

In  fact,  why  should  not  the  Sairmeuse  have  regretted 
their  odious  conduct  ?  Was  it  impossible  that  Lache- 
neur,  in  spite  of  his  indignation,  should  conclude  to  ac- 
cept honorable  separation?  Such  were  M.  d'Escor- 
val's  reflections. 

"  To  say  that  the  marquis  has  been  kind  is  saying 
too  little,"  continued  Lacheneur.  "  He  has  shown  us 
the  most  delicate  attentions.  For  example,  having 
noticed  how  much  Marie-Anne  regrets  the  loss  of  her 
flowers,  he  has  declared  that  he  is  going  to  send  her 
plants  to  stock  our  small  garden,  and  that  they  shall  be 
renewed  every  month." 

Like  all  passionate  men,  M.  Lacheneur  overdid  his 
part.  This  last  remark  was  too  much  ;  it  awakened  a 
sinister  suspicion  in  M.  d'Escorval's  mind. 

"  Good  God !  "  he  thought,  "  does  this  wretched  man 
meditate  some  crime  ?  " 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    135 

He  glanced  at  Chanlouineau,  and  his  anxiety  in- 
creased. On  hearing  the  names  of  the  marquis  and  of 
Marie-Anne,  the  robust  farmer  had  turned  livid. 

"  It  is  decided,"  said  Lacheneur,  with  an  air  of  the 
utmost  satisfaction,  "  that  they  will  give  me  the  ten 
thousand  francs  bequeathed  to  me  by  Mademoiselle 
Armande.  Moreover,  I  am  to  fix  upon  such  a  sum  as 
I  consider  a  just  recompense  for  my  services.  And 
that  is  not  all ;  they  have  offered  me  the  position  of 
manager  at  Sairmeuse ;  and  I  was  to  be  allowed  to  oc- 
cupy the  gamekeeper's  cottage,  where  I  lived  so  long. 
But  on  reflection  I  refused  this  offer.  After  having 
enjoyed  for  so  long  a  time  a  fortune  which  did  not  be- 
long to  me,  I  am  anxious  to  amass  a  fortune  of  my 
own." 

"  Would  it  be  indiscreet  in  me  to  inquire  what  you 
intend  to  do  ?  " 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world.  I  am  going  to  turn 
pedler." 

M.  d'Escorval  could  not  believe  his  ears. 

"  Pedler?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur.  Look,  there  is  my  pack  in  that 
corner." 

"  But  this  is  absurd !  "  exclaimed  M.  d'Escorval. 
"  People  can  scarcely  earn  their  daily  bread  in  this 
way." 

"  You  are  wrong,  Monsieur.  I  have  considered  the 
subject  carefully ;  the  profits  are  thirty  per  cent.  And 
besides,  there  will  be  three  of  us  to  sell  goods,  for  I 
shall  confide  one  pack  to  my  son,  and  another  to  Chan- 
louineau." 

"What!  Chanlouineau?" 

"  He  has  become  my  partner  in  the  enterprise.'* 

"  And  his  farm — who  will  take  care  of  that  ?  " 


136         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

"  He  will  employ  day-laborers." 

And  then,  as  if  wishing  to  make  M.  d'Escorval  un- 
derstand that  his  visit  had  lasted  quite  long  enough, 
Lacheneur  began  arranging  the  little  packages  which 
were  destined  to  fill  the  pack  of  the  travelling  mer- 
chant. 

But  the  baron  was  not  to  be  gotten  rid  of  so  easily, 
now  that  his  suspicions  had  become  almost  a  certainty. 

"  I  must  speak  with  you,"  he  said,  brusquely. 

M.  Lacheneur  turned. 

"  I  am  very  busy,"  he  replied,  with  a  very  evident  re- 
luctance. 

"  I  ask  only  five  minutes.  But  if  you  have  not  the 
time  to  spare  to-day,  I  will  return  to-morrow — day 
after  to-morrow — and  every  day  until  I  can  see  you  in 
private." 

Lacheneur  saw  plainly  that  it  would  be  impossible  to 
escape  this  interview,  so,  with  the  gesture  of  a  man  who 
resigns  himself  to  a  necessity,  addressing  his  son  and 
Chanlouineau,  he  said: 

"  Go  outside  for  a  few  moments." 

They  obeyed,  and  as  soon  as  the  door  had  closed  be- 
hind them,  Lacheneur  said : 

"  I  know  very  well,  Monsieur,  the  arguments  you  in- 
tend to  advance ;  and  the  reason  of  your  coming. 
You  come  to  ask  me  again  for  Marie-Anne.  I  know 
that  my  refusal  has  nearly  killed  Maurice.  Believe 
me,  I  have  suffered  cruelly  at  the  thought ;  but  my  re- 
fusal is  none  the  less  irrevocable.  There  is  no  power 
in  the  world  capable  of  changing  my  resolution.  Do 
not  ask  my  motives ;  I  shall  not  reveal  them ;  but  rest 
assured  that  they  are  sufficient." 

"  Are  we  not  your  friends  ?  " 

"  You,  Monsieur !  "  exclaimed  Lacheneur,  in  tones 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    137 

of  the  most  lively  affection,  "  you !  ah !  you  know  it 
well !  You  are  the  best,  the  only  friends,  I  have  here 
below.  I  should  be  the  basest  and  the  most  miserable 
of  men  if  I  did  not  guard  the  recollection  of  all  your 
kindnesses  until  my  eyes  close  in  death.  Yes,  you  are 
my  friends ;  yes,  I  am  devoted  to  you — and  it  is  for 
that  very  reason  that  I  answer :  no,  no,  never !  " 

There  could  no  longer  be  any  doubt.  M.  d'Escor- 
val  seized  Lacheneur's  hands,  and  almost  crushing 
them  in  his  grasp : 

"  Unfortunate  man !  "  he  exclaimed,  hoarsely, 
"  what  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  Of  what  terrible  ven- 
geance are  you  dreaming  ?  " 

"  I  swear  to  you " 

"  Oh !  do  not  swear.  You  cannot  deceive  a  man  of 
my  age  and  of  my  experience.  I  divine  your  inten- 
tions— you  hate  the  Sairmeuse  family  more  mortally 

than  ever." 

"  j » 

"  Yes,  you  ;  and  if  you  pretend  to  forget  it,  it  is  only 
that  they  may  forget  it.  These  people  have  offended 
you  too  cruelly  not  to  fear  you ;  you  understand  this, 
and  you  are  doing  all  in  your  power  to  reassure  them. 
You  accept  their  advances — you  kneel  before  them — 
why?  Because  they  will  be  more  completely  in  your 
power  when  you  have  lulled  their  suspicions  to  rest, 
and  then  you  can  strike  them  more  surely " 

He  paused ;  the  communicating  door  opened,  and 
Marie-Anne  appeared  upon  the  threshold. 

"  Father,"  said  she,  "  here  is  the  Marquis  de  Sair- 
meuse." 

This  name,  which  Marie-Anne  uttered  in  a  voice  of 
such  perfect  composure,  in  the  midst  of  this  excited 
discussion,  possessed  such  a  powerful  significance,  that 
M.  d'Escorval  stood  as  if  petrified. 


138         THE   HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

"  He  dares  to  come  here !  "  he  thought.  "  How  can 
it  be  that  he  does  not  fear  the  walls  will  fall  and  crush 
him?" 

M.  Lacheneur  cast  a  withering  glance  at  his  daugh- 
ter. He  suspected  her  of  a  ruse  which  would  force 
him  to  reveal  his  secret.  For  a  second,  the  most  furi- 
ous passion  contracted  his  features. 

But,  by  a  prodigious  effort  of  will,  he  succeeded  in 
regaining  his  composure.  He  sprang  to  the  door, 
pushed  Marie- Anne  aside,  and  leaning  out,  he  said : 

"  Deign  to  excuse  me,  Monsieur,  if  I  take  the  liberty 
of  asking  you  to  wait  a  moment;  I  am  just  finishing 
some  business,  and  I  will  be  with  you  in  a  moment." 

Neither  agitation  nor  anger  could  be  detected  in  his 
voice ;  but,  rather,  a  respectful  deference,  and  a  feeling 
of  profound  gratitude. 

Having  said  this,  he  closed  the  door  and  turned  to 
M.  d'Escorval. 

The  baron,  still  standing  with  folded  arms,  had  wit- 
nessed this  scene  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  distrusts 
the  evidence  of  his  own  senses ;  and  yet  he  understood 
the  meaning  of  it  only  too  well. 

"  So  this  young  man  comes  here  ?  "  he  said  to  Lache- 
neur. 

"Almost  every  day — not  at  this  hour,  usually,  but  a 
trifle  later." 

"  And  you  receive  him  ?  you  welcome  him  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Monsieur.  How  can  I  be  insensible  to 
the  honor  he  confers  upon  me?  Moreover,  we  have 
subjects  of  mutual  interest  to  discuss.  We  are  now  oc- 
cupied in  legalizing  the  restitution  of  Sairmeuse.  I 
can,  also,  give  him  much  useful  information,  and  many 
hints  regarding  the  management  of  the  property." 

"  And  do  you  expect  to  make  me,  your  old  friend, 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    139 

believe  that  a  man  of  your  superior  intelligence  is  de- 
ceived by  the  excuses  the  marquis  makes  for  these  fre- 
quent visits  ?  Look  me  in  the  eye,  and  then  tell  me,  if 
you  dare,  that  you  believe  these  visits  are  addressed  to 
you ! " 

Lacheneur's  eye  did  not  waver. 

"  To  whom  else  could  they  be  addressed  ?  "  he  in- 
quired. 

This  obstinate  serenity  disappointed  the  baron's  ex- 
pectations. He  could  not  have  received  a  heavier 
blow. 

"  Take  care,  Lacheneur,"  he  said,  sternly.  "  Think 
of  the  situation  in  which  you  place  your  daughter,  be- 
tween Chanlouineau,  who  wishes  to  make  her  his  wife, 
and  Monsieur  de  Sairmeuse,  who  desires  to  make 
her " 

"  Who  desires  to  make  her  his  mistress — is  that 
what  you  mean?  Oh,  say  the  word.  But  what  does 
that  matter?  I  am  sure  of  Marie- Anne." 

M.  d'Escorval  shuddered. 

"  In  other  words,"  said  he,  in  bitter  indignation, 
"  you  make  your  daughter's  honor  and  reputation  your 
stake  in  the  game  you  are  playing." 

This  was  too  much.  Lacheneur  could  restrain  his 
furious  passion  no  longer. 

"  Well,  yes !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  frightful  oath ; 
"  yes,  you  have  spoken  the  truth.  Marie-Anne  must 
be,  and  will  be,  the  instrument  of  my  plans.  A  man 
situated  as  I  am  is  free  from  the  considerations  that  re- 
strain other  men.  Fortune,  friends,  life,  honor — I 
have  been  forced  to  sacrifice  all.  Perish  my  daughter's 
virtue — perish  my  daughter  herself — what  do  they 
matter,  if  I  can  but  succeed  ?  " 

He  was  terrible  in  his  fanaticism;   and  in  his  mad 


140         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

excitement  he  clinched  his  hands  as  if  he  were  threat- 
ening some  invisible  enemy;  his  eyes  were  wild  and 
bloodshot. 

The  baron  seized  him  by  the  coat  as  if  to  prevent  his 
escape. 

"  You  admit  it,  then  ?  "  he  said.  "  You  wish  to  re- 
venge yourself  on  the  Sairmeuse  family,  and  you  have 
made  Chanlouineau  your  accomplice  ?  " 

But  Lacheneur,  with  a  sudden  movement,  freed  him- 
self. 

"  I  admit  nothing,"  he  replied.  "  And  yet  I  wish  to 
reassure  you " 

He  raised  his  hand  as  if  to  take  an  oath,  and  in  a 
solemn  voice,  he  said: 

"  Before  God,  who  hears  my  words,  by  all  that  I  hold 
sacred  in  this  world,  by  the  memory  of  my  sainted  wife 
who  lies  beneath  the  sod,  I  swear  that  I  am  plotting 
nothing  against  the  Sairmeuse  family ;  that  I  had  no 
thought  of  touching  a  hair  of  their  heads.  I  use  them 
only  because  they  are  absolutely  indispensable  to  me. 
They  will  aid  me  without  injuring  themselves." 

Lacheneur,  this  time,  spoke  the  truth.  His  hearer 
felt  it ;  still  he  pretended  to  doubt.  He  thought  by  re- 
taining his  own  self-possession,  and  exciting  the  anger 
of  this  unfortunate  man  still  more,  he  might,  perhaps, 
discover  his  real  intentions.  So  it  was  with  an  air  of 
suspicion  that  he  said  : 

"  How  can  one  believe  this  assurance  after  the 
avowal  you  have  just  made  ?  " 

Lacheneur  saw  the  snare ;  he  regained  his  self-pos- 
session as  if  by  magic. 

"  So  be  it,  Monsieur,  refuse  to  believe  me.  But  you 
will  wring  from  me  only  one  more  word  on  this  sub- 
ject. I  have  said  too  much  already.  1  know  that  you 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    141 

are  guided  solely  by  friendship  for  me ;  my  gratitude 
is  great,  but  I  cannot  reply  to  your  question.  The 
events  of  the  past  few  days  have  dug  a  deep  abyss  be- 
tween you  and  me.  Do  not  endeavor  to  pass  it.  Why 
should  we  ever  meet  again  ?  I  must  say  to  you,  what 
I  said  only  yesterday  to  Abbe  Midon.  If  you  are  my 
friend,  you  will  never  come  here  again — never — by 
night  or  by  day,  or  under  any  pretext  whatever.  Even 
if  they  tell  you  that  I  am  dying,  do  not  come.  This 
house  is  fatal.  And  if  you  meet  me,  turn  away ;  shun 
me  as  you  would  a  pestilence  whose  touch  is  deadly !  " 

The  baron  was  silent.  This  was  in  substance  what 
Marie- Anne  had  said  to  him,  only  under  another  form. 

"  But  there  is  still  a  wiser  course  that  you  might 
pursue.  Everything  here  is  certain  to  augment  the 
sorrow  and  despair  which  afflicts  your  son.  There  is 
not  a  path,  nor  a  tree,  nor  a  flower  which  does  not  cru- 
elly remind  him  of  his  former  happiness.  Leave  this 
place  ;  take  him  with  you,  and  go  far  away." 

"  Ah !  how  can  I  do  this  ?  Fouche  has  virtually  im- 
prisoned me  here." 

"  All  the  more  reason  why  you  should  listen  to  my 
advice.  You  were  a  friend  of  the  Emperor,  hence  you 
are  regarded  with  suspicion ;  you  are  surrounded  by 
spies.  Your  enemies  are  watching  for  an  opportunity 
to  ruin  you.  The  slightest  pretext  would  suffice  to 
throw  you  into  prison — a  letter,  a  word,  an  act  capable 
of  being  misconstrued.  The  frontier  is  not  far  off ;  go, 
and  wait  in  a  foreign  land  for  happier  times." 

"  That  is  something  which  I  will  not  do,"  said  M. 
d'Escorval,  proudly. 

His  words  and  accent  showed  the  folly  of  further  dis- 
cussion. Lacheneur  understood  this  only  too  well, 
and  seemed  to  despair. 


142         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"Ah  !  you  are  like  Abbe  Midon,"  he  said,  sadly; 
"  you  will  not  believe.  Who  knows  how  much  your 
coming  here  this  morning-  will  cost  you?  It  is  said 
that  no  one  can  escape  his  destiny.  But  if  some  day 
the  hand  of  the  executioner  is  laid  upon  your  shoulder, 
remember  that  I  warned  you,  and  do  not  curse  me." 

He  paused,  and  seeing  that  even  this  sinister  proph- 
ecy produced  no  impression  upon  the  baron,  he  pressed 
his  hand  as  if  to  bid  him  an  eternal  farewell,  and  opened 
the  door  to  admit  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse. 

Martial  was,  perhaps,  annoyed  at  meeting  M.  d'Es- 
corval ;  but  he  nevertheless  bowed  with  studied  polite- 
ness, and  began  a  lively  conversation  with  M.  Lache- 
neur,  telling  him  that  the  articles  he  had  selected  at  the 
chateau  were  on  their  way. 

M.  d'Escorval  could  do  no  more.  To  speak  with 
Marie- Anne  was  impossible :  Chanlouineau  and  Jean 
would  not  let  him  go  out  of  their  sight. 

He  reluctantly  departed,  and  oppressed  by  cruel 
forebodings,  he  descended  the  hill  which  he  had 
climbed  an  hour  before  so  full  of  hope. 

What  should  he  say  to  Maurice? 

He  had  reached  the  little  grove  of  pines  when  a 
hurried  footstep  behind  him  made  him  turn. 

The  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  was  following  him,  and 
motioned  him  to  stop.  The  baron  paused,  greatly  sur- 
prised ;  Martial,  with  that  air  of  ingenuousness  which 
he  knew  so  well  how  to  assume,  and  in  an  almost 
brusque  tone,  said : 

"  I  hope,  Monsieur,  that  you  will  excuse  me  for  hav- 
ing followed  you,  when  you  hear  what  I  have  to  say. 
I  am  not  of  your  party ;  I  loathe  what  you  adore ;  but 
I  have  none  of  the  passion  nor  the  malice  of  your  ene- 
mies. For  this  reason  I  tell  you  that  if  I  were  in  your 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    143 

place  I  would  take  a  journey.  The  frontier  is  but  a 
few  miles  away :  a  good  horse,  a  short  gallop,  and  you 
have  crossed  it.  A  word  to  the  wise  is — salvation !  " 

And  without  waiting  for  any  response,  he  turned 
and  retraced  his  steps. 

M.  d'Escorval  was  amazed  and  confounded. 

"  One  might  suppose  there  was  a  conspiracy  to  drive 
me  away !  "  he  murmured.  "  But  I  have  good  reason 
to  distrust  the  disinterestedness  of  this  young  man." 

Martial  was  already  far  off.  Had  he  been  less  pre- 
occupied, he  would  have  perceived  two  figures  in  the 
wood.  Mile.  Blanche  de  Courtornieu,  followed  by  the 
inevitable  Aunt  Medea,  had  come  to  play  the  spy. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

The  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  idolized  his  daughter. 
Everyone  spoke  of  that  as  an  incontestable  and  uncon- 
tested  fact. 

When  persons  spoke  to  him  of  his  daughter,  they 
always  said : 

"  You,  who  adore  your  daughter " 

And  when  he  spoke  of  himself,  he  said : 

"  I  who  adore  Blanche." 

The  truth  was,  that  he  would  have  given  a  good  deal, 
even  a  third  of  his  fortune,  to  be  rid  of  her. 

This  smiling  young  girl,  who  seemed  such  an  artless 
child,  had  gained  an  absolute  control  over  him.  She 
forced  him  to  bow  like  a  reed  to  her  every  caprice — 
and  Heaven  knows  she  had  enough  of  them  ! 

In  the  hope  of  making  his  escape,  he  had  thrown  her 
Aunt  Medea ;  but  in  less  than  three  months  that  poor 
woman  had  been  completely  subjugated,  and  did  not 


U4         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

serve  to  divert  his  daughter's  attention  from  him,  even 
for  a  moment. 

Sometimes  the  marquis  revolted,  but  nine  times  out 
of  ten  he  paid  dearly  for  his  attempts  at  rebellion. 
When  Mile.  Blanche  turned  her  cold  and  steel-like 
eyes  upon  him  with  a  certain  peculiar  expression,  his 
courage  evaporated.  Her  weapon  was  irony;  and 
knowing  his  weak  points,  she  struck  with  wonderful 
precision. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  how  devoutly  he  prayed  and 
hoped  that  some  honest  young  man,  by  speedily  mar- 
rying his  daughter,  would  free  him  from  this  cruel 
bondage. 

But  where  was  he  to  find  this  liberator? 

The  marquis  had  announced  everywhere  his  inten- 
tion of  bestowing  a  dowry  of  a  million  upon  his  daugh- 
ter. Of  course  this  had  brought  a  host  of  eager  suit- 
ors, not  only  from  the  immediate  neighborhood,  but 
from  parts  remote. 

But,  unfortunately,  though  many  of  them  would 
have  suited  M.  de  Courtornieu  well  enough,  not  a  sin- 
gle one  had  been  so  fortunate  as  to  please  Mile. 
Blanche. 

Her  father  presented  some  suitor ;  she  received  him 
graciously,  lavished  all  her  charms  upon  him ;  but  as 
soon  as  his  back  was  turned,  she  disappointed  all  her 
father's  hopes  by  rejecting  him. 

"  He  is  too  small,"  she  said,  "  or  too  large.  His 
rank  is  not  equal  to  ours.  I  think  him  stupid.  He  is 
a  fool — his  nose  is  so  ugly." 

From  these  summary  decisions  there  was  no  appeal. 
Arguments  and  persuasions  were  useless.  The  con- 
demned man  no  longer  existed. 

Still,  as  this  view  of  aspirants  to  her  hand  amused 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    145 

her,  she  encouraged  her  father  in  his  efforts.  He  was 
beginning  to  despair,  when  fate  dropped  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse  and  son  at  his  very  door.  When  he  saw 
Martial,  he  had  a  presentiment  of  his  approaching  re- 
lease. 

"  He  will  be  my  son-in-law,"  he  thought. 

The  marquis  believed  it  best  to  strike  the  iron  while 
it  was  hot.  So,  the  very  next  day,  he  broached  the 
subject  to  the  duke. 

His  overtures  were  favorably  received. 

Possessed  with  the  desire  of  transforming  Sairmeuse 
into  a  little  principality,  the  duke  could  not  fail  to  be 
delighted  with  an  alliance  with  one  of  the  oldest  and 
wealthiest  families  in  the  neighborhood. 

The  conference  was  short. 

"  Martial,  my  son,  possesses,  in  his  own  right,  an  in- 
come of  at  least  six  hundred  thousand  francs,"  said  the 
duke. 

"  I  shall  give  my  daughter  at  least — yes,  at  least  fif- 
teen hundred  thousand  francs  as  her  marriage  por- 
tion," declared  the  marquis. 

"  His  Majesty  is  favorably  disposed  toward  me.  I 
can  obtain  any  important  diplomatic  position  for  Mar- 
tial." 

"  In  case  of  trouble,  I  have  many  friends  among  the 
opposition." 

The  treaty  was  thus  concluded ;  but  M.  de  Courtor- 
nieu  took  good  care  not  to  speak  of  it  to  his  daughter. 
If  he  told  her  how  much  he  desired  the  match,  she 
would  be  sure  to  oppose  it.  Non-interference  seemed 
advisable. 

The  correctness  of  his  judgment  was  fully  demon- 
strated. One  morning  Mile.  Blanche  made  her  ap- 
pearance in  his  cabinet. 

10 


i46         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  Your  capricious  daughter  has  decided,  papa,  that 
she  would  like  to  become  the  Marquise  de  Sairmeuse," 
said  she,  peremptorily. 

It  cost  M.  de  Courtornieu  quite  an  effort  to  conceal 
his  delight ;  but  he  feared  if  she  discovered  his  satisfac- 
tion that  the  game  would  be  lost. 

He  presented  several  objections ;  they  were  quickly 
disposed  of ;  and,  at  last,  he  ventured  to  say : 

"  Then  the  marriage  is  half  decided ;  one  of  the 
parties  consents.  It  only  remains  to  ascertain  if " 

"  The  other  will  consent,"  declared  the  vain  heiress. 

And,  in  fact,  for  several  days  Mile.  Blanche  had 
been  applying  herself  assiduously  and  quite  success- 
fully to  the  work  of  fascination  which  was  to  bring 
Martial  to  her  feet. 

After  having  made  an  advance,  with  studied  frank- 
ness and  simplicity,  sure  of  the  effect  she  had  pro- 
duced, she  now  proceeded  to  beat  a  retreat — a  manoeu- 
vre so  simple  that  it  was  almost  sure  to  succeed. 

Until  now  she  had  been  gay,  spirituelle,  and  coquet- 
tish ;  gradually,  she  became  quiet  and  reserved.  The 
giddy  school-girl  had  given  place  to  the  shrinking  vir- 
gin. 

With  what  perfection  she  played  her  part  in  the  di- 
vine comedy  of  first  love!  Martial  could  not  fail  to 
be  fascinated  by  the  modest  artlessness  and  chaste  fears 
of  the  heart  which  seemed  to  be  waking  for  him. 
When  he  appeared,  Mile.  Blanche  blushed  and  was 
silent.  At  a  word  from  him  she  became  confused. 
He  could  only  occasionally  catch  a  glimpse  of  her 
beautiful  eyes  through  the  shelter  of  their  long  lashes. 

Who  had  taught  her  this  refinement  of  coquetry? 
They  say  that  the  convent  is  an  excellent  teacher. 

But  what  she  had  not  learned  was  that  the  most 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    147 

clever  often  become  the  dupes  of  their  own  imagina- 
tion ;  and  that  great  comediennes  generally  conclude  by 
shedding  real  tears. 

She  learned  this  one  evening,  when  a  laughing  re- 
mark made  by  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  revealed  the  fact 
that  Martial  was  in  the  habit  of  going  to  Lacheneur's 
house  every  day. 

What  she  experienced  now  could  not  be  compared 
with  the  jealousy,  or  rather  anger,  which  had  previous- 
ly agitated  her. 

This  was  an  acute,  bitter,  and  intolerable  sorrow. 
Before,  she  had  been  able  to  retain  her  composure ; 
now,  it  was  impossible. 

That  she  might  not  betray  herself,  she  left  the  draw- 
ing-room precipitately  and  hastened  to  her  own  room, 
where  she  burst  into  a  fit  of  passionate  sobbing. 

"  Can  it  be  that  he  does  not  love  me  ?  "  she  mur- 
mured. 

This  thought  made  her  cold  with  terror.  For  the 
first  time  this  haughty  heiress  distrusted  her  own 
power. 

She  reflected  that  Martial's  position  was  so  exalted 
that  he  could  afford  to  despise  rank ;  that  he  was  so 
rich  that  wealth  had  no  attractions  for  him ;  and  that 
she  herself  might  not  be  so  pretty  and  so  charming  as 
flatterers  had  led  her  to  suppose. 

Still  Martial's  conduct  during  the  past  week — and 
Heaven  knows  with  what  fidelity  her  memory  recalled 
each  incident — was  well  calculated  to  reassure  her. 

He  had  not,  it  is  true,  formally  declared  himself,  but 
it  was  evident  that  he  was  paying  his  addresses  to  her. 
His  manner  was  that  of  the  most  respectful,  but  the 
most  infatuated  of  lovers. 

Her  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 


i48        THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

her  maid,  bringing  a  large  bouquet  of  roses  which  had 
just  been  sent  by  Martial. 

She  took  the  flowers,  and  while  arranging  them  in 
a  large  Japanese  vase,  she  bedewed  them  with  the  first 
real  sincere  tears  she  had  shed  since  her  entrance  into 
the  world. 

She  was  so  pale  and  sad,  so  unlike  herself  when  she 
appeared  the  next  morning  at  breakfast,  that  Aunt 
Medea  was  alarmed. 

Mile.  Blanche  had  prepared  an  excuse,  and  she  ut- 
tered it  in  such  sweet  tones  that  the  poor  lady  was  as 
much  amazed  as  if  she  had  witnessed  a  miracle. 

M.  de  Courtornieu  was  no  less  astonished. 

"  Of  what  new  freak  is  this  doleful  face  the  pref- 
ace ?  "  he  wondered. 

He  was  still  more  alarmed  when,  immediately  after 
breakfast,  his  daughter  asked  a  moment's  conversation 
with  him. 

She  followed  him  into  his  study,  and  as  soon  as 
they  were  alone,  without  giving  her  father  time  to  seat 
himself,  Mile.  Blanche  entreated  him  to  tell  her  all  that 
had  passed  between  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  and  him- 
self, and  asked  if  Martial  had  been  informed  of  the  in- 
tended alliance,  and  what  he  had  replied. 

Her  voice  was  meek,  her  eyes  tearful ;  her  manner 
indicated  the  most  intense  anxiety. 

The  marquis  was  delighted. 

"  My  wilful  daughter  has  been  playing  with  fire,"  he 
thought,  stroking  his  chin  caressingly ;  "  and  upon  my 
word,  she  has  burned  herself." 

"  Yesterday,  my  child,"  he  replied,  "  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse  formally  demanded  your  hand  on  behalf  of 
his  son ;  your  consent  is  all  that  is  lacking.  So  rest 
e.asy,  my  beautiful,  lovelorn  damsel — you  will  be  a 
duchess." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    149 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  to  conceal  her  blushes. 

"  You  know  my  decision,  father,"  she  faltered,  in  an 
almost  inaudible  voice  ;  "  we  must  make  haste." 

He  started  back,  thinking  he  had  not  heard  her 
words  aright. 

"  Make  haste !  "  he  repeated. 

"  Yes,  father.     I  have  fears." 

"  What  fears,  in  Heaven's  name  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  when  everything  is  settled,"  she  re- 
plied, as  she  made  her  escape  from  the  room. 

She  did  not  doubt  the  reports  which  had  reached  her 
ears,  of  Martial's  frequent  visits  to  Marie-Anne,  but 
she  wished  to  see  for  herself. 

So,  as  soon  as  she  left  her  father,  she  obliged  Aunt 
Medea  to  dress  herself,  and  without  vouchsafing  a  sin- 
gle word  of  explanation,  took  her  with  her  to  the 
Reche,  and  stationed  herself  where  she  could  com- 
mand a  view  of  M.  Lacheneur's  house. 

It  chanced  to  be  the  very  day  on  which  M.  d'Es- 
corval  came  to  ask  an  explanation  from  his  friend.  She 
saw  him  come;  then,  after  a  little,  Martial  made  his 
appearance. 

She  had  not  been  mistaken — now  she  could  go  home 
satisfied. 

But  no.  She  resolved  to  count  the  seconds  which 
Martial  passed  with  Marie-Anne. 

M.  d'Escorval  did  not  remain  long;  she  saw  Martial 
hasten  out  after  him,  and  speak  to  him. 

She  breathed  again.  His  visit  had  not  lasted  a  half 
hour,  and  doubtless  he  was  going  away.  Not  at  all. 
After  a  moment's  conversation  with  the  baron,  he  re- 
turned to  the  house. 

"  What  are  we  doing  here  ?  "  demanded  Aunt  Me- 
dea. 


i5o         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  Let  me  alone !  "  replied  Mile.  Blanche,  angrily ; 
"  hold  your  tongue !  " 

She  heard  the  sound  of  wheels,  the  tramp  of  horses' 
hoofs,  blows  of  the  whip,  and  oaths. 

The  wagons  bearing  the  furniture  and  clothing  be- 
longing to  M.  Lacheneur  were  coming. 

This  noise  Martial  must  have  heard  within  the 
house,  for  he  came  out,  and  after  him  came  M. 
Lacheneur,  Jean,  Chanlouineau,  and  Marie-Anne. 

Everyone  was  soon  busy  in  unloading  the  wagons, 
and  positively,  from  the  movements  of  the  young  Mar- 
quis de  Sairmeuse,  one  would  have  sworn  that  he  was 
giving  orders ;  he  came  and  went,  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
talking  to  everybody,  not  even  disdaining  to  lend  a 
hand  occasionally. 

"  He,  a  nobleman,  makes  himself  at  home  in  that 
wretched  hovel ! "  Mile.  Blanche  said  to  herself. 
"  How  horrible !  Ah !  this  dangerous  creature  will  do 
with  him  whatever  she  desires." 

All  this  was  nothing  compared  with  what  was  to 
come.  A  third  wagon  appeared,  drawn  by  a  single 
horse,  and  laden  with  pots  of  flowers  and  shrubs. 

This  sight  drew  a  cry  of  rage  from  Mile,  de  Courtor- 
nieu  which  must  have  carried  terror  to  Aunt  Medea's 
heart. 

"  Flowers !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  hoarse  with 
passion.  "  He  sends  flowers  to  her  as  he  does  to  me 
— only  he  sends  me  a  bouquet,  while  for  her  he  de- 
spoils the  gardens  of  Sairmeuse." 

"  What  are  you  saying  about  flowers  ?  "  inquired  the 
impoverished  relative. 

Mile.  Blanche  replied  that  she  had  not  made  the 
slightest  allusion  to  flowers.  She  was  suffocating — 
and  yet  she  compelled  herself  to  remain  there  three 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    151 

mortal  hours — all  the  time  that  was  required  to  unload 
the  furniture. 

The  wagons  had  been  gone  some  time,  when  Mar- 
tial again  appeared  upon  the  threshold. 

Marie- Anne  had  accompanied  him  to  the  door,,  and 
they  were  talking  together.  It  seemed  impossible  for 
him  to  make  up  his  mind  to  depart. 

He  did  so,  at  last,  however ;  but  he  left  slowly  and 
with  evident  reluctance.  Marie-Anne,  remaining  in 
the  door,  gave  him  a  friendly  gesture  of  farewell. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  to  this  creature !  "  exclaimed  Mile. 
Blanche.  "  Come,  aunt,  at  once !  " 

Had  Marie-Anne,  at  that  moment,  been  within  the 
reach  of  Mile,  de  Courtornieu's  voice,  she  would  cer- 
tainly have  learned  the  secret  of  her  former  friend's 
anger  and  hatred. 

But  fate  wilted  it  otherwise.  At  least  three  hundred 
yards  of  rough  ground  separated  the  place  where  Mile. 
Blanche  had  stationed  herself,  from  the  Lacheneur  cot- 
tage. 

It  required  a  moment  to  cross  this  space ;  and  that 
was  time  enough  to  change  all  the  girl's  intentions. 

She  had  not  traversed  a  quarter  of  the  distance  be- 
fore she  bitterly  regretted  having  shown  herself  at  all. 
But  to  retrace  her  steps  now  was  impossible,  for  Marie- 
Anne,  who  was  still  standing  upon  the  threshold,  had 
seen  her  approaching. 

There  remained  barely  time  to  regain  her  self-con- 
trol, and  to  compose  her  features.  She  profited  by  it. 

She  had  her  sweetest  smile  upon  her  lips  as  she 
greeted  Marie-Anne.  Still  she  was  embarrassed ;  she 
did  not  know  what  excuse  to  give  for  her  visit,  and  to 
gain  time  she  pretended  to  be  quite  out  of  breath. 

"  Ah !  it  is  not  very  easy  to  reach  you,  dear  Marie- 


152         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

Anne,"  she  said,  at  last ;  "  you  live  upon  the  summit  of 
a  veritable  mountain." 

Mile.  Lacheneur  said  not  a  word.  She  was  greatly 
surprised,  and  she  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  the  fact. 

"  Aunt  Medea  pretended  to  know  the  road,"  contin- 
ued Mile.  Blanche,  "  but  she  led  me  astray ;  did  you 
not,  aunt  ?  " 

As  usual,  the  impecunious  relative  assented,  and  her 
niece  resumed : 

"  But  at  last  we  are  here.  I  could  not,  my  dearest, 
resign  myself  to  hearing  nothing  from  you,  especially 
after  all  your  misfortunes.  What  have  you  been  do- 
ing? Did  my  recommendation  procure  for  you  the 
work  you  desired  ?  " 

Marie-Anne  could  not  fail  to  be  deeply  touched  by 
this  kindly  interest  on  the  part  of  her  former  friend. 
So,  with  perfect  frankness,  and  without  any  false 
shame,  she  confessed  that  all  her  efforts  had  been  fruit- 
less. It  had  even  seemed  to  her  that  several  ladies  had 
taken  pleasure  in  treating  her  unkindly. 

But  Mile.  Blanche  was  not  listening.  A  few  steps 
from  her  stood  the  flowers  brought  from  Sairmeuse; 
and  their  perfume  rekindled  her  anger. 

"  At  least,"  she  interrupted,  "  you  have  here  what 
will  almost  make  you  forget  the  gardens  of  Sairmeuse. 
Who  sent  you  these  beautiful  flowers  ?  " 

Marie-Anne  turned  crimson.  She  did  not  speak  for 
a  moment,  but  at  last  she  replied,  or  rather  stam- 
mered : 

"  It  is — an  attention  from  the  Marquis  de  Sair- 
meuse." 

"  So  she  confesses  it !  "  thought  Mile,  de  Courtor- 
nieu,  amazed  at  what  she  was  pleased  to  consider  an 
outrageous  piece  of  impudence. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    153 

But  she  succeeded  in  concealing  her  rage  beneath 
a  loud  burst  of  laughter ;  and  it  was  in  a  tone  of  raillery 
that  she  said : 

"  Take  care,  my  dear  friend  ;  I  am  going  to  call  you 
to  account.  It  is  from  my  fiance  that  you  are  accepting 
flowers." 

"  What !  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  ?  " 

"  Has  demanded  the  hand  of  your  friend.  Yes,  my 
darling;  and  my  father  has  given  it  to  him.  It  is  a 
secret  as  yet ;  but  I  see  no  danger  in  confiding  in  your 
friendship." 

She  believed  that  she  had  inflicted  a  mortal  wound 
upon  Marie- Anne's  heart ;  but  though  she  watched  her 
closely,  she  failed  to  detect  the  slightest  trace  of  emo- 
tion upon  her  face. 

"  What  dissimulation  !  "  she  thought.  Then  aloud, 
and  with  affected  gayety,  she  resumed : 

"  And  the  country  folks  will  see  two  weddings  at 
about  the  same  time,  since  you,  also,  are  going  to  be 
married,  my  dear." 

"  I !  " 

"  Yes,  you,  you  little  deceiver !  Everybody  knows 
that  you  are  engaged  to  a  young  man  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, named — wait — I  know — Chanlouineau." 

Thus  the  report  that  annoyed  Marie-Anne  so  much 
reached  her  from  every  side. 

"  Everybody  is  for  once  mistaken,"  said  she,  ener- 
getically. "  I  shall  never  be  that  young  man's  wife." 

"  But  why  ?  They  speak  well  of  him,  personally, 
and  he  is  quite  rich." 

"  Because,"  faltered  Marie- Anne,  "  because " 

Maurice  d'Escorval's  name  trembled  upon  her  lips ; 
but  unfortunately  she  did  not  utter  it,  prevented  by  a 
strange  expression  on  the  face  of  her  friend.  How 


154         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

often  one's  destiny  depends  upon  a  circumstance  ap- 
parently as  trivial  as  this ! 

"  Impudent,  worthless  creature !  "  thought  Mile. 
Blanche. 

Then,  in  cold  and  sneering  tones,  that  betrayed  her 
hatred  unmistakably,  she  said : 

"  You  are  wrong,  believe  me,  to  refuse  this  offer. 
This  Chanlouineau  will,  at  all  events,  save  you  from 
the  painful  necessity  of  laboring  with  your  own  hands, 
and  of  going  from  door  to  door  in  quest  of  work  which 
is  refused  you.  But,  no  matter;  / — she  laid  great 
stress  upon  this  word — /  will  be  more  generous  than 
your  old  acquaintances.  I  have  a  great  deal  of  em- 
broidery to  be  done.  I  shall  send  it  to  you  by  my 
maid,  and  you  two  may  agree  upon  the  price.  We 
must  go.  Good-by,  my  dear.  Come,  Aunt  Medea." 

She  departed,  leaving  Marie- Anne  petrified  with  sur- 
prise, sorrow,  and  indignation. 

Although  less  experienced  than  Mile.  Blanche,  she 
comprehended  that  this  strange  visit  concealed  some 
mystery — but  what  ? 

For  more  than  a  minute  she  stood  motionless,  gaz- 
ing after  her  departing  guests ;  then  she  started  sudden- 
ly as  a  hand  was  laid  gently  upon  her  shoulder. 

She  trembled,  and,  turning  quickly,  found  herself 
face  to  face  with  her  father. 

Lacheneur's  face  was  whiter  than  his  linen,  and  a 
sinister  light  glittered  in  his  eye. 

"  I  was  there,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  door,  "  and 
I  heard  all." 

"  Father !  " 

"  What  !  would  you  try  to  defend  her  after  she  came 
here  to  crush  you  with  her  insolent  good  fortune — after 
she  overwhelmed  you  with  her  ironical  pity  and  with 


her  scorn  ?  I  tell  you  they  are  all  like  this — these  girls, 
whose  heads  have  been  turned  by  flattery,  and  who  be- 
lieve that  in  their  veins  flows  a  different  blood  from 
ours.  But  patience !  The  day  of  reckoning  is  near  at 
hand !  " 

Those  whom  he  threatened  would  have  shuddered 
had  they  seen  him  at  that  moment,  so  terrible  was  the 
rage  revealed  by  his  accent,  so  formidable  did  he  ap- 
pear. 

"  And  you,  my  beloved  daughter,  my  poor  Marie- 
Anne,  you  did  not  understand  the  insults  she  heaped 
upon  you.  You  are  wondering  why  she  should  have 
treated  you  with  such  disdain.  Ah,  well !  I  will  tell 
you:  she  imagines  that  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  is 
your  lover." 

Marie-Anne  tottered  beneath  the  terrible  blow,  and 
a  nervous  spasm  shook  her  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Can  this  be  possible  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Great 
God !  what  shame  !  what  humiliation  !  " 

• 

"  And  why  should  this  astonish  you  ?  "  said  Lache- 
neur,  coldly.  "  Have  you  not  expected  this  ever  since 
the  day  when  you,  my  devoted  daughter,  consented, 
for  the  sake  of  my  plans,  to  submit  to  the  attentions  of 
this  marquis,  whom  you  loathe  as  much  as  I  despise  ?  " 

"  But  Maurice !  Maurice  will  despise  me !  I  can 
bear  anything,  yes,  everything  but  that." 

M.  Lacheneur  made  no  reply.  Marie-Anne's  de- 
spair was  heart-breaking ;  he  felt  that  he  could  not  bear 
to  witness  it,  that  it  would  shake  his  resolution,  and  he 
re-entered  the  house. 

But  his  penetration  was  not  at  fault.  While  waiting 
to  find  a  revenge  which  would  be  worthy  of  her,  Mile. 
Blanche  armed  herself  with  a  weapon  of  which  jeal- 
ousy and  hatred  so  often  avail  themselves — calumny. 


156         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

Two  or  three  abominable  stories  which  she  concoct- 
ed, and  which  she  forced  Aunt  Medea  to  circulate 
everywhere,  did  not  produce  the  desired  effect. 

Marie-Anne's  reputation  was,  of  course,  ruined  by 
them ;  but  Martial's  visits,  instead  of  ceasing,  became 
longer  and  more  frequent.  Dissatisfied  with  his  prog- 
ress, and  fearful  that  he  was  being  duped,  he  even 
watched  the  house. 

So  it  happened  that,  one  evening,  when  he  was  quite 
sure  that  Lacheneur,  his  son,  and  Chanlouineau  were 
absent,  Martial  saw  a  man  leave  the  house  and  hasten 
across  the  fields. 

He  rushed  after  him,  but  the  man  escaped  him. 

He  believed,  however,  that  he  recognized  Maurice 
d'Escorval. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

After  his  son's  confession,  M.  d'Escorval  was  pru- 
dent enough  to  make  no  allusion  to  the  hopes  he,  him- 
self, entertained. 

"  My  poor  Maurice,"  he  thought,  "  is  heart-broken, 
but  resigned.  It  is  better  for  him  to  remain  without 
hope  than  to  be  exposed  to  the  danger  of  another  dis- 
appointment." 

But  passion  is  not  always  blind.  What  the  baron 
concealed,  Maurice  divined ;  and  he  clung  to  this  faint 
hope  as  tenaciously  as  a  drowning  man  clings  to  the 
plank  which  is  his  only  hope  of  salvation. 

If  he  asked  his  parents  no  questions  it  was  only  be- 
cause he  was  convinced  that  they  would  not  tell  him. 
the  truth. 

But  he  watched  all  that  went  on  in  the  house  with 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    157 

that  subtleness  of  penetration  which  fever  so  often  im- 
parts. 

Not  one  of  his  father's  movements  escaped  his  vigi- 
lant eye  and  ear. 

Consequently,  he  heard  him  put  on  his  boots,  ask 
for  his  hat,  and  select  a  cane  from  among  those  stand- 
ing in  the  vestibule.  He  also  heard  the  outer  gate 
grate  upon  its  hinges. 

"  My  father  is  going  out,"  he  said  to  himself. 

And  weak  as  he  was,  he  succeeded  in  dragging  him- 
self to  the  window  in  time  to  satisfy  himself  of  the  truth 
of  his  conjectures. 

"  If  my  father  is  going  out,"  he  thought,  "  it  can 
only  be  to  visit  Monsieur  Lacheneur — then  he  has  not 
relinquished  all  hope." 

An  arm-chair  was  standing  nearby ;  he  sank  into  it, 
intending  to  watch  for  his  father's  return  ;  by  doing  so, 
he  might  know  his  destiny  a  few  moments  sooner. 

Three  long  hours  passed  before  the  baron  returned. 

By  his  father's  dejected  manner  he  plainly  saw  that 
all  hope  was  lost.  He  was  sure  of  it ;  as  sure  as  the 
criminal  who  reads  the  fatal  verdict  in  the  solemn  face 
of  the  judge. 

He  had  need  of  all  his  energy  to  regain  his  couch. 
For  a  moment  he  felt  that  he  was  dying. 

But  he  was  ashamed  of  this  weakness,  which  he 
judged  unworthy  of  him.  He  determined  to  know 
what  had  passed — to  know  the  details. 

He  rang,  and  told  the  servant  that  he  wished  to 
speak  to  his  father.  M.  d'Escorval  promptly  made  his 
appearance. 

"Well?"  cried  Maurice. 

M.  d'Escorval  felt  that  denial  was  useless. 

"  Lacheneur  is  deaf  to  my  remonstrances  and  to  my 


158         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

entreaties,"  he  replied,  sadly.  "  Nothing  remains  for 
you  but  to  submit,  my  son.  I  shall  not  tell  you  that 
time  will  assuage  the  sorrow  that  now  seems  insupport- 
able— you  would  not  believe  me.  But  I  do  say  to  you, 
that  you  are  a  man,  and  that  you  must  prove  your  cour- 
age. I  say  even  more:  fight  against  thoughts  of 
Marie-Anne  as  a  traveller  on  the  verge  of  a  precipice 
fights  against  the  thought  of  vertigo." 

"  Have  you  seen  Marie-Anne,  father  ?  Have  you 
spoken  to  her?  " 

"  I  found  her  even  more  inflexible  than  Lacheneur." 
"  They  reject  me,  and  they  receive  Chanlouineau, 
perhaps." 

"  Chanlouineau  is  living  there." 
"  My  God !     And  Martial  de  Sairmeuse  ?  " 
"  He  is  their  familiar  guest.     I  saw  him  there." 
That  each  of  these  responses  fell  upon  Maurice  like 
a  thunder-bolt  was  only  too  evident. 

But  M.  d'Escorval  had  armed  himself  with  the  im- 
passable courage  of  a  surgeon  who  does  not  relax  his 
hold  on  his  instruments  because  the  patient  groans  and 
writhes  in  agony. 

M.  d'Escorval  wished  to  extinguish  the  last  ray  of 
hope  in  the  heart  of  his  son. 

"  It  is  evident  that  Monsieur  Lacheneur  has  lost  his 
reason !  "  exclaimed  Maurice. 

The  baron  shook  his  head  despondently. 
"  I  thought  so  myself,  at  first,"  he  murmured. 
"  But  what  does  he  say  in  justification  of  his  con- 
duct?    He  must  say  something." 

"  Nothing ;  he  refuses  any  explanation." 
"  And   you,    father,   with    all    your   knowledge    of 
human  nature,  with  all  your  wide  experience,  have  not 
been  able  to  fathom  his  intentions  ?  " 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    159 

"  I  have  my  suspicions,"  M.  d'Escorval  replied ; 
"  but  only  suspicions.  It  is  possible  that  Lacheneur, 
listening  to  the  voice  of  hatred,  is  dreaming  of  a  terri- 
ble revenge.  Who  knows  if  he  does  not  think  of  or- 
ganizing some  conspiracy,  of  which  he  is  to  be  the 
leader  ?  These  suppositions  would  explain  everything. 
Chanlouineau  is  his  aider  and  abettor  ;  and  he  pretends 
to  be  reconciled  to  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  in  order 
to  get  information  through  him " 

The  blood  had  returned  to  the  pale  cheeks  of  Mau- 
rice. 

"  Such  a  conspiracy  would  not  explain  Monsieur 
Lacheneur's  obstinate  rejection  of  my  suit." 

"  Alas !  yes,  my  poor  boy.  It  is  through  Marie- 
Anne  that  Lacheneur  exerts  such  an  influence  over 
Chanlouineau  and  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse.  If  she 
became  your  wife  to-day,  they  would  desert  him  to- 
morrow. Then,  too,  it  is  precisely  because  he  loves 
us  that  he  is  determined  we  shall  not  be  mixed  up  in  an 
enterprise  the  success  of  which  is  extremely  doubtful. 
But  these  are  mere  conjectures." 

"  Then  I  see  that  it  is  necessary  to  submit,  to  be  re- 
signed ;  forget,  I  cannot,"  faltered  Maurice. 

He  said  this  because  he  wished  to  reassure  his  father ; 
but  he  thought  exactly  the  opposite. 

"  If  Lacheneur  is  organizing  a  conspiracy,"  he  said, 
to  himself,  "  he  must  need  assistance.  Why  should  I 
not  offer  mine?  If  I  aid  him  in  his  preparations,  if 
I  share  his  hopes  and  his  dangers,  it  will  be  impossible 
for  him  to  refuse  me  the  hand  of  his  daughter.  What- 
ever he  may  desire  to  undertake,  I  can  surely  be  of 
greater  assistance  than  Chanlouineau." 

From  that  moment  Maurice  thought  only  of  doing 
everything  possible  to  hasten  his  convalescence.  This 


160        THE   HONOR   OF   THE    NAME 

was  so  rapid,  so  extraordinarily  rapid,  as  to  astonish 
Abbe  Midon,  who  had  taken  the  place  of  the  physician 
from  Montaignac. 

"  I  never  would  have  believed  that  Maurice  could 
have  been  thus  consoled,"  said  Mme.  d'Escorval, 
delighted  to  see  her  son's  wonderful  improvement  in 
health  and  spirits. 

But  the  baron  made  no  response.  He  regarded  this 
almost  miraculous  recovery  with  distrust;  he  was  as- 
sailed by  a  vague  suspicion  of  the  truth. 

He  questioned  his  son,  but  skilfully  as  he  did  it,  he 
could  draw  nothing  from  him. 

Maurice  had  decided  to  say  nothing  to  his  parents. 
What  good  would  it  do  to  trouble  them  ?  Besides,  he 
feared  remonstrance  and  opposition,  and  he  was  re- 
solved to  carry  out  his  plans,  even  if  he  was  compelled 
to  leave  the  paternal  roof. 

In  the  second  week  of  September  the  abbe  declared 
that  Maurice  might  resume  his  ordinary  life,  and  that, 
as  the  weather  was  pleasant,  it  would  be  well  for  him 
to  spend  much  of  his  time  in  the  open  air. 

In  his  delight,  Maurice  embraced  the  worthy  priest. 

"  What  happiness !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  then  I  can 
hunt  once  more !  " 

He  really  cared  but  little  for  the  chase;  but  lie 
deemed  it  expedient  to  pretend  a  great  passion  for  it, 
since  it  would  furnish  him  with  an  excuse  for  frequent 
and  protracted  absences. 

Never  had  he  felt  more  happy  than  on  the  morning 
when,  with  his  gun  upon  his  shoulder,  he  crossed  the 
Giselle  and  started  for  the  abode  of  M.  Lacheneur. 
On  reaching  the  little  grove  on  the  Reche,  he  paused 
for  a  moment  at  a  place  which  commanded  a  view  of 
the  cottage.  While  he  stood  there,  he  saw  Jean  La- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    161 

cheneur  and  Chanlouineau  leave  the  house,  each  laden 
with  a  pedler's  pack. 

Maurice  was  therefore  sure  that  M.  Lacheneur  and 
Marie-Anne  were  alone  in  the  house. 

He  hastened  to  the  cottage  and  entered  without  stop- 
ping to  rap. 

Marie-Anne  and  her  father  were  kneeling  on  the 
hearth,  upon  which  a  huge  fire  was  blazing. 

On  hearing  the  door  open,  they  turned ;  and  at  the 
sight  of  Maurice,  they  both  sprang  up,  blushing  and 
confused. 

"  What  brings  you  here  ?  "  they  exclaimed  in  the 
same  breath. 

Under  other  circumstances,  Maurice  d'Escorval 
would  have  been  dismayed  by  such  a  hostile  greeting, 
but  now  he  scarcely  noticed  it. 

"  You  have  no  business  to  return  here  against  my 
wishes,  and  after  what  I  have  said  to  you,  Monsieur 
d'Escorval,"  said  Lacheneur,  rudely. 

Maurice  smiled,  he  was  perfectly  cool,  and  not  a  de- 
tail of  the  scene  before  him  had  escaped  his  notice.  If 
he  had  felt  any  doubts  before,  they  were  now  dissi- 
pated. He  saw  upon  the  fire  a  large  kettle  of  melted 
lead,  and  several  bullet-moulds  stood  on  the  hearth, 
beside  the  andirons. 

"  If  I  venture  to  present  myself  at  your  house,  Mon- 
sieur," said  Maurice,  gravely  and  impressively,  "  it  is 
because  I  know  all.  I  have  discovered  your  revenge- 
ful project.  You  are  looking  for  men  to  aid  you,  are 
you  not  ?  Very  well !  look  me  in  the  face,  in  the  eyes, 
and  tell  me  if  I  am  not  one  of  those  whom  a  leader  is 
glad  to  enroll  among  his  followers." 

M.  Lacheneur  was  terribly  agitated. 
ii 


i62        THE   HONOR    OF   THE    NAME 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,"  he  faltered,  for- 
getting his  feigned  anger ;  "  I  have  no  projects." 

"  Would  you  assert  this  upon  oath  ?  Why  are  you 
casting  these  bullets?  You  are  clumsy  conspirators. 
You  should  lock  your  door ;  someone  else  might  have 
entered." 

And  adding  example  to  precept,  he  turned  and 
pushed  the  bolt. 

"  This  is  only  an  imprudence,"  he  continued ;  "  but 
to  reject  a  soldier  who  comes  to  you  voluntarily  would 
be  a  fault  for  which  your  associate  would  have  a  right 
to  call  you  to  account.  I  have  no  desire,  understand 
me,  to  force  myself  into  your  confidence.  No,  I  give 
myself  to  you  blindly,  body  and  soul.  Whatever  your 
cause  may  be,  I  declare  it  mine  ;  what  you  wish,  I  wish  ; 
I  adopt  your  plans ;  your  enemies  are  my  enemies ; 
command,  I  will  obey.  I  ask  only  one  favor,  that  of 
fighting,  of  triumphing,  or  of  dying  by  your  side." 

"  Oh  !  refuse,  father !  "  exclaimed  Marie-Anne ;  "  re- 
fuse. To  accept  this  offer  would  be  a  crime !  " 

"  A  crime !     And  why,  if  you  please  ?  " 

"  Because  our  cause  is  not  your  cause ;  because  its 
success  is  doubtful;  because  dangers  surround  us  on 
every  side." 

A  scornful  exclamation  from  Maurice  interrupted 
her. 

"  And  it  is  you  who  think  to  dissuade  me  by  pointing 
out  the  dangers  that  threaten  you,  the  dangers  that  you 
are  braving " 

"Maurice!" 

"  So  if  imminent  peril  menaced  me,  instead  of  com- 
ing to  my  aid  you  would  desert  me  ?  You  would  hide 
yourself,  saying, '  Let  him  perish,  so  that  I  be  saved ! ' 
Speak !  Would  you  do  this  ?  " 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    163 

She  averted  her  face  and  made  no  reply.  She  could 
not  force  herself  to  utter  an  untruth ;  and  she  was  un- 
willing to  answer :  "  I  would  act  as  you  are  acting." 
She  waited  for  her  father's  decision. 

"  If  I  should  comply  with  your  request,  Maurice," 
said  M.  Lacheneur,  "  in  less  than  three  days  you  would 
curse  me,  and  ruin  us  by  some  outburst  of  anger. 
You  love  Marie-Anne.  Could  you  see,  unmoved,  the 
frightful  position  in  which  she  is  placed  ?  Remember, 
she  must  not  discourage  the  addresses  either  of  Chan- 
louineau  or  of  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse.  You  re- 
gard me — oh,  I  know  as  well  as  you  do  that  it  is  a 
shameful  and  odious  role  that  I  impose  upon  her — 
that  she  is  compelled  to  play  a  part  in  which  she  will 
lose  a  young  girl's 'most  precious  possession — her  rep- 
utation." 

Maurice  did  not  wince.  "  So  be  it,"  he  said,  calmly. 
"  Marie-Anne's  fate  will  be  that  of  all  women  who  have 
devoted  themselves  to  the  political  advancement  of  the 
man  whom  they  love,  be  he  father,  brother,  or  lover. 
She  will  be  slandered,  insulted,  calumniated.  What 
does  it  matter?  She  may  continue  her  task.  I  con- 
sent to  it,  for  I  shall  never  doubt  her,  and  I  shall  know 
how  to  hold  my  peace.  If  we  succeed,  she  shall  be  my 
wife  ;  if  we  fail " 

The  gesture  which  concluded  the  sentence  said  more 
strongly  than  any  protestations,  that  he  was  ready, 
resigned  to  anything. 

M.  Lacheneur  was  greatly  moved. 

"  At  least  give  me  time  for  reflection,"  said  he. 

"  There  is  no  necessity  for  further  reflection,  Mon- 
sieur." 

"  But  you  are  only  a  child,  Maurice ;  and  your  father 
is  my  friend." 


i64        THE   HONOR   OF   THE    NAME 

"What  of  that?" 

"  Rash  boy !  do  you  not  understand  that  by  com- 
promising yourself  you  also  compromise  Baron  d'Es- 
corval?  You  think  you  are  risking  only  your  own 
head ;  you  are  endangering  your  father's  life " 

But  Maurice  violently  interrupted  him. 

"  There  has  been  too  much  parleying  already !  "  he 
exclaimed  ;  "  there  have  been  too  many  remonstrances. 
Answer  me  in  a  word !  Only  understand  this :  if  you 
reject  me,  I  will  return  to  my  father's  house,  and  with 
this  gun  which  I  hold  in  my  hand  I  will  blow  out  my 
brains." 

This  was  no  idle  threat.  It  was  evident  that  what 
he  said,  that  would  he  do.  His  listeners  were  so  con- 
vinced of  this,  that  Marie-Anne  turned  to  her  father 
with  clasped  hands  and  a  look  of  entreaty. 

"  You  are  one  of  us,  then,"  said  M.  Lacheneur, 
sternly ;  "  but  do  not  forget  that  you  forced  me  to  con- 
sent by  threats ;  and  whatever  may  happen  to  you  or 
yours,  remember  that  you  would  have  it  so." 

But  these  gloomy  words  produced  no  impression 
upon  Maurice ;  he  was  wild  with  joy. 

"  Now,"  continued  M.  Lacheneur,  "  I  must  tell  you 
my  hopes,  and  acquaint  you  with  the  cause  for  which 
I  am  laboring " 

"  What  does  that  matter  to  me  ? "  Maurice  ex- 
claimed, gayly ;  and,  springing  toward  Marie- Anne,  he 
seized  her  hand  and  raised  it  to  his  lips,  crying,  with 
the  joyous  laugh  of  youth  : 

"  My  cause — here  it  is !  " 

Lacheneur  turned  away.  Perhaps  he  recollected 
that  a  sacrifice  of  his  pride  was  all  that  was  necessary 
to  assure  the  happiness  of  these  poor  children. 

But  if  a  feeling  of  remorse  entered  his  mind,  he 
drove  it  away,  and  with  increased  sternness,  he  said : 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    165 

"  Still,  Monsieur  d'Escorval,  it  is  necessary  for  you 
to  understand  our  agreement." 

"  Make  known  your  conditions,  sir." 

"  First,  your  visits  here — after  certain  rumors  that  I 
have  put  in  circulation — would  arouse  suspicion.  You 
must  come  here  only  at  night,  and  then  only  at  hours 
that  have  been  agreed  upon  in  advance — never  when 
you  are  not  expected." 

The  attitude  of  Maurice  expressed  his  entire  con- 
sent. 

"  Moreover,  you  must  find  some  way  to  cross  the 
river  without  having  recourse  to  the  ferryman,  who  is 
a  dangerous  fellow." 

"  We  have  an  old  skiff.  I  will  persuade  my  father 
to  have  it  repaired." 

"  Very  well.  Will  you  also  promise  me  to  avoid  the 
Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  ?  " 

"  I  will." 

"  Wait  a  moment ;  we  must  be  prepared  for  any 
emergency.  It  may  be  that,  in  spite  of  our  precau- 
tions, you  will  meet  him  here.  Monsieur  de  Sair- 
meuse is  arrogance  itself;  and  he  hates  you.  You  de-. 
test  him,  and  you  are  very  hasty.  Swear  to  me  that 
if  he  provokes  you,  you  will  ignore  his  insults." 

"  But  I  should  be  considered  a  coward,  Monsieur." 

"  Probably.     Will  you  swear?  " 

Maurice  hesitated,  but  an  imploring  look  from 
Marie-Anne  decided  him. 

"  I  swear !  "  he  said,  gravely. 

"  As  far  as  Chanlouineau  is  concerned,  it  would  be 
better  not  to  let  him  know  of  our  agreement — but  I 
will  take  care  of  this  matter." 

M.  Lacheneur  paused  and  reflected  for  a  moment,  as 
if  striving  to  discover  if  he  had  forgotten  anything. 


166        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

"  Nothing  remains,  Maurice,"  he  resumed,  "  but  to 
give  you  a  last  and  very  important  piece  of  advice. 
Do  you  know  my  son  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  we  were  formerly  the  best  of  comrades 
during  our  vacations." 

"  Very  well.  When  you  know  my  secret — for  I 
shall  confide  it  to  you  without  reserve — beware  of 
Jean." 

"What,  sir?" 

"  Beware  of  Jean.     I  repeat  it." 

And  he  blushed  deeply,  as  he  added : 

"  Ah !  it  is  a  painful  avowal  for  a  father ;  but  I  have 
no  confidence  in  my  own  son.  He  knows  no  more 
in  regard  to  my  plans  than  I  told  him  on  the  day  of  his 
arrival.  I  deceive  him,  because  I  fear  he  might  betray 
us.  Perhaps  it  would  be  wise  to  send  him  away ;  but 
in  that  case,  what  would  people  say  ?  Most  assuredly 
they  would  say  that  I  was  very  avaricious  of  my  own 
blood,  while  I  was  very  ready  to  risk  the  lives  of  others. 
Still  I  may  be  mistaken  ;  I  may  misjudge  him." 

He  sighed,  and  added : 

"Beware!" 

CHAPTER  XIX 

So  it  was  really  Maurice  d'Escorval  whom  the  Mar- 
quis de  Sairmeuse  had  seen  leaving  Lacheneur's  house. 

Martial  was  not  certain  of'it,  but  the  very  possibility 
made  his  heart  swell  with  anger. 

"  What  part  am  I  playing  here,  then  ?  "  he  exclaimed, 
indignantly. 

He  had  been  so  completely  blinded  by  passion  that 
he  would  not  have  been  likely  to  discover  the  real  con- 
dition of  affairs  even  if  no  pains  had  been  taken  to  de- 
ceive him. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    167 

Lacheneur's  formal  courtesy  and  politeness  he  re- 
garded as  sincere.  He  believed  in  the  studied  respect 
shown  him  by  Jean  ;  and  the  almost  servile  obsequious- 
ness of  Chanlouineau  did  not  surprise  him  in  the  least. 

And  since  Marie-Anne  welcomed  him  politely,  he 
concluded  that  his  suit  was  progressing  favorably. 

Having  himself  forgotten,  he  supposed  that  every- 
one else  had  ceased  to  remember. 

Moreover,  he  was  of  the  opinion  that  he  had  acted 
with  great  generosity,  and  that  he  was  entitled  to  the 
deep  gratitude  of  the  Lacheneur  family ;  for  M.  Lache- 
neur  had  received  the  legacy  bequeathed  him  by  Mile. 
Armande,  and  an  indemnity,  besides  all  the  furniture 
he  had  chosen  to  take  from  the  chateau,  a  total  of  at 
least  sixty  thousand  francs. 

"  He  must  be  hard  to  please,  if  he  is  not  satisfied !  " 
growled  the  duke,  enraged  at  such  prodigality,  though 
it  did  not  cost  him  a  penny. 

Martial  had  supposed  himself  the  only  visitor  at  the 
cottage  on  the  Reche ;  and  when  he  discovered  that 
such  was  not  the  case,  he  became  furious. 

"  Am  I,  then,  the  dupe  of  a  shameless  girl  ?  "  he 
thought. 

He  was  so  incensed,  that  for  more  than  a  week  he 
did  not  go  to  Lacheneur's  house. 

His  father  concluded  that  his  ill-humor  and  gloom 
was  caused  by  some  misunderstanding  with  Marie- 
Anne  ;  and  he  took  advantage  of  this  opportunity  to 
gain  his  son's  consent  to  an  alliance  with  Blanche  de 
Courtornieu. 

A  victim  to  the  most  cruel  doubts  and  fears,  Martial, 
goaded  to  the  last  extremity,  exclaimed  : 

"  Very  well !  I  will  marry  Mademoiselle  Blanche." 

The  duke  did  not  allow  such  a  good  resolution  to 
grow  cold. 


168        THE   HONOR   OF   THE    NAME 

In  less  than  forty-eight  hours  the  engagement  was 
made  public ;  the  marriage  contract  was  drawn  up,  and 
it  was  announced  that  the  wedding  would  take  place 
early  in  the  spring. 

A  grand  banquet  was  given  at  Sairmeuse  in  honor 
of  the  betrothal — a  banquet  all  the  more  brilliant  since 
there  were  other  victories  to  be  celebrated. 

The  Due  de  Sairmeuse  had  just  received,  with  his 
brevet  of  lieutenant-general,  a  commission  placing 
him  in  command  of  the  military  department  of  Mon- 
taignac. 

The  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  had  also  received  an 
appointment,  making  him  provost-marshal  of  the  same 
district. 

Blanche  had  triumphed.  After  this  public  betrothal 
Martial  was  bound  to  her. 

For  a  fortnight,  indeed,  he  scarcely  left  her  side.  In 
her  society  there  was  a  charm  whose  sweetness  almost 
made  him  forget  his  love  for  Marie-Anne. 

But  unfortunately  the  haughty  heiress  could  not  re- 
sist the  temptation  to  make  a  slighting  allusion  to 
Marie-Anne,  and  to  the  lowliness  of  the  marquis's 
former  tastes.  She  found  an  opportunity  to  say  that 
she  furnished  Marie-Anne  with  work  to  aid  her  in 
earning  a  living. 

Martial  forced  himself  to  smile;  but  the  indignity 
which  Marie-Anne  had  received  aroused  his  sympathy 
and  indignation. 

And  the  next  day  he  went  to  Lacheneur's  house. 

In  the  warmth  of  the  greeting  that  awaited  him 
there,  all  his  anger  vanished,  all  his  suspicions  evapo- 
rated. Marie-Anne's  eyes  beamed  with  joy  on  see- 
ing him  again ;  he  noticed  it. 

"  Oh !  I  shall  win  her  yet !  "  he  thought. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    169 

All  the  household  were  really  delighted  at  his  return ; 
the  son  of  the  commander,  of  the  military  forces  at 
Montaignac,  and  the  prospective  son-in-law  of  the 
provost-marshal,  Martial  was  a  most  valuable  instru- 
ment. 

"  Through  him,  we  shall  tiave  an  eye  and  an  ear 
in  the  enemy's  camp,"  said  Lacheneur.  "  The  Mar- 
quis de  Sairmeuse  will  be  our  spy." 

He  was,  for  he  soon  resumed  his  daily  visits  to  the 
cottage.  It  was  now  December,  and  the  roads  were 
terrible ;  but  neither  rain,  snow,  nor  mud  could  keep 
Martial  from  the  cottage. 

He  made  his  appearance  generally  as  early  as  ten 
o'clock,  seated  himself  upon  a  stool  in  the  shadow  of 
a  tall  fireplace,  and  he  and  Marie-Anne  talked  by  the 
hour. 

She  seemed  greatly  interested  in  matters  at  Mon- 
taignac,  and  he  told  her  all  that  he  knew  in  regard  to 
affairs  there. 

Sometimes  they  were  alone. 

Lacheneur,  Chanlouineau,  and  Jean  were  tramping 
about  the  country  with  their  merchandise.  Business 
was  prospering  so  well  that  M.  Lacheneur  had  pur- 
chased a  horse  in  order  to  extend  his  journeys. 

But  Martial's  conversation  was  generally  interrupted 
by  visitors.  It  was  really  surprising  to  see  how  many 
peasants  came  to  the  house  to  speak  to  M.  Lacheneur. 
There  was  an  interminable  procession  of  them.  And 
to  each  of  these  peasants  Marie-Anne  had  something 
to  say  in  private.  Then  she  offered  each  man  refresh- 
ments— the  house  seemed  almost  like  a  common  drink- 
ing-saloon. 

But  what  can  daunt  the  courage  of  a  lover?  Mar- 
tial endured  all  this  without  a  murmur.  He  laughed 


170        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

and  jested  with  the  comers  and  goers ;  he  shook  hands 
with  them ;  sometimes  he  even  drank  with  them. 

He  gave  many  other  proofs  of  moral  courage.  He 
offered  to  assist  M.  Lacheneur  in  making  up  his  ac- 
counts ;  and  once — it  happened  about  the  middle  of 
February — seeing  Chanlouineau  worrying  over  the 
composition  of  a  letter,  he  actually  offered  to  act  as  his 
amanuensis. 

"  The  d d  letter  is  not  for  me,  but  for  an  uncle  of 

mine  who  is  about  to  marry  off  his  daughter,"  said 
Chanlouineau. 

Martial  took  a  seat  at  the  table,  and,  at  Chanloui- 
neau's  dictation,  but  not  without  many  erasures,  in- 
dited the  following  epistle : 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND — We  are  at  last  agreed,  and 
the  marriage  has  been  decided  upon.  We  are  now 
busy  with  preparations  for  the  wedding,  which  will 

take  place  on  .     We  invite  you  to  give  us  the 

pleasure  of  your  company.  We  count  upon  you,  and 
be  assured  that  the  more  friends  you  bring  with  you 
the  better  we  shall  be  pleased." 

Had  Martial  seen  the  smile  upon  Chanlouineau's 
lips  when  he  requested  him  to  leave  the  date  for  the 
wedding  a  blank,  he  would  certainly  have  suspected 
that  he  had  been  caught  in  a  snare.  But  he  was  in 
love. 

"  Ah !  Marquis,"  remarked  his  father  one  day, 
"  Chupin  tells  me  you  are  always  at  Lacheneur's. 
When  will  you  recover  from  your  penchant  for  that 
little  girl?" 

Martial  did  not  reply.  He  felt  that  he  was  at  that 
"  little  girl's  "  mercy.  Each  glance  of  hers  made  his 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    171 

heart  throb  wildly.  By  her  side  he  was  a  willing  cap- 
tive. If  she  had  asked  him  to  make  her  his  wife  he 
would  not  have  said  no. 

But  Marie-Anne  had  not  this  ambition.  All  her 
thoughts,  all  her  wishes  were  for  her  father's  success. 

Maurice  and  Marie-Anne  had  become  M.  Lache- 
neur's  most  intrepid  auxiliaries.  They  were  looking 
forward  to  such  a  magnificent  reward. 

Such  .  feverish  activity  as  Maurice  displayed !  All 
day  long  he  hurried  from  hamlet  to  hamlet,  and  in  the 
evening,  as  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  he  made  his  es- 
cape from  the  drawing-room,  sprang  into  his  boat,  and 
hastened  to  the  Reche. 

M.  d'Escorval  could  not  fail  to  remark  the  long  and 
frequent  absences  of  his  son.  He  watched  him,  and 
soon  became  absolutely  certain  that  Lacheneur  had, 
to  use  the  baron's  own  expression,  seduced  him. 

Greatly  alarmed,  he  decided  to  go  and  see  his 
former  friend,  and  fearing  another  repulse,  he  begged 
Abbe  Midon  to  accompany  him. 

It  was  on  the  4th  of  March,  at  about  half-past 
four  o'clock,  that  M.  d'Escorval  and  the  cure  started  for 
the  Reche.  They  were  so  anxious  and  troubled  in 
mind  that  they  scarcely  exchanged  a  dozen  words  as 
they  wended  their  way  onward. 

A  strange  sight  met  their  eyes  as  they  emerged  from 
the  grove  on  the  Reche. 

Night  was  falling,  but  it  was  still  light  enough  for 
them  to  distinguish  objects  only  a  short  distance  from 
them. 

Before  Lacheneur's  house  stood  a  group  of  about  a 
dozen  persons,  and  M.  Lacheneur  was  speaking  and 
gesticulating  excitedly. 

What  was  he  saying?     Neither  the  baron  nor  the 


172        THE   HONOR    OF   THE   NAME 

priest  could  distinguish  his  words,  but  when  he  ceased, 
the  most  vociferous  acclamations  rent  the  air. 

Suddenly  a  match  glowed  between  his  fingers  ;  he  set 
fire  to  a  bundle  of  straw  and  tossed  it  upon  the  thatched 
roof  of  his  cottage,  crying  out  in  a  terrible  voice : 

"  The  die  is  cast !  This  will  prove  to  you  that  I  shall 
not  draw  back  !  " 

Five  minutes  later  the  house  was  in  flames. 

In  the  distance  the  baron  and  his  companion  saw 
the  windows  of  the  citadel  at  Montaignac  illuminated 
by  a  red  glare,  and  upon  every  hill-side  glowed  the  light 
of  other  incendiary  fires. 

The  country  was  responding  to  Lacheneur's  signal. 


CHAPTER  XX 

Ah!  ambition  is  a  fine  thing! 

The  Due  de  Sairmeuse  and  the  Marquis  de  Courtor- 
nieu  were  past  middle  age ;  their  lives  had  been  marked 
by  many  storms  and  vicissitudes ;  they  were  the  pos- 
sessors of  millions,  and  the  owners  of  the  most  sumpt- 
uous residences  in  the  province.  Under  these  cir- 
cumstances one  might  have  supposed  that  they  would 
desire  to  end  their  days  in  peace  and  quietness. 

It  would  have  been  easy  for  them  to  create  a  life  of 
happiness  by  doing  good  to  those  around  them,  and 
by  preparing  for  their  last  hours  a  chorus  of  benedic- 
tions and  of  regrets. 

But  no.  They  longed  to  have  a  hand  in  managing 
the  ship  of  state ;  they  were  not  content  to  be  simply 
passengers. 

And  the  duke,  appointed  to  the  command  of  the  mil- 
itary forces,  and  the  marquis,  made  presiding  judge 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    173 

of  the  court  at  Montaignac,  were  both  obliged  to  leave 
their  beautiful  homes  and  take  up  their  abode  in  rather 
dingy  quarters  in  town. 

They  did  not  murmur  at  the  change ;  their  vanity 
was  satisfied. 

Louis  XVIII.  was  on  the  throne;  their  prejudices 
were  triumphant ;  they  were  happy. 

It  is  true  that  dissatisfaction  was  rife  on  every  side, 
but  had  they  not  hundreds  and  thousands  of  allies  at 
hand  to  suppress  it  ? 

And  when  wise  and  thoughtful  persons  spoke  of 
"  discontent,"  the  duke  and  his  associates  regarded 
them  as  visionaries. 

On  the  4th  of  March,  1816,  the  duke  was  just  sitting 
down  to  dinner  when  a  loud  noise  was  heard  in  the 
vestibule. 

He  rose — but  at  that  very  instant  the  door  was  flung 
open  and  a  man  entered,  panting  and  breathless. 

This  man  was  Chupin,  the  former  poacher,  whom 
M.  de  Sairmeuse  had  elevated  to  the  position  of  head 
gamekeeper. 

It  was  evident  that  something  extraordinary  had 
happened. 

"  What  is  it?  "  inquired  the  duke. 

"They  are  coming!"  cried  Chupin;  "they  are  al- 
ready on  the  way  !  " 

"Who?  who?" 

By  way  of  response,  Chupin  handed  the  duke  a  copy 
of  the  letter  written  by  Martial  under  Chanlouineau's 
dictation. 

M.  de  Sairmeuse  read : 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND — We  are  at  last  agreed,  and  the 
marriage  is  decided.  We  are  now  busy  in  preparing 


174        THE   HONOR  .OF   THE   NAME 

for  the  wedding,  which  will  take  place  on  the  4th  of 
March." 

The  date  was  no  longer  blank ;  but  still  the  duke  did 
not  comprehend. 

"  Well,  what  of  it?  "  he  demanded. 

Chupin  tore  his  hair. 

"  They  are  on  the  way,"  he  repeated.  "  I  speak  of 
the  peasants — they  intend  to  take  possession  of  Mon- 
taignac,  dethrone  Louis  XVIII.,  bring  back  the  Em- 
peror, or  at  least  the  son  of  the  Emperor — miserable 
wretches  !  they  have  deceived  me.  I  suspected  this 
outbreak,  but  I  did  not  think  it  was  so  near  at  hand." 

This  terrible  blow,  so  entirely  unexpected,  stupefied 
the  duke  for  a  moment. 

"  How  many  are  there  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"Ah!  how  do  I  know,  Monsieur?  Two  thousand, 
perhaps — perhaps  ten  thousand." 

"  All  the  towns-people  are  with  us." 

"  No,  Monsieur,  no.  The  rebels  have  accomplices 
here.  All  the  retired  officers  stand  ready  to  assist 
them." 

"  Who  are  the  leaders  of  the  movement?  " 

"  Lacheneur,  Abbe  Midon,  Chanlouineau,  Baron 
d'Escorval " 

"  Enough  !  "  cried  the  duke. 

Now  that  danger  was  certain,  his  coolness  returned  ; 
and  his  herculean  form,  a  trifle  bowed  by  the  weight 
of  years,  rose  to  its  full  height. 

He  gave  the  bell-rope  a  violent  pull;  a  valet  ap- 
peared. 

"  My  uniform,"  commanded  M.  de  Sairmeuse ;  "  my 
pistols !  Quick !  " 

The  servant  was  about  to  obey,  when  the  duke  ex- 
claimed : 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    175 

"  Wait !  Let  someone  take  a  horse,  and  go  and  tell 
my  son  to  come  here  without  a  moment's  delay.  Take 
one  of  the  swiftest  horses.  The  messenger  ought  to 
go  to  Sairmeuse  and  return  in  two  hours." 

Chupin  endeavored  to  attract  the  duke's  attention  by 
pulling  the  skirt  of  his  coat.  M.  de  Sairmeuse  turned : 

"What  is  it?" 

The  old  poacher  put  his  finger  on  his  lip,  recom- 
mending silence,  but  as  soon  as  the  valet  had  left  the 
room,  he  said: 

"  It  is  useless  to  send  for  the  marquis." 

"  And  why,  you  fool  ?  " 

"  Because,  Monsieur,  because — excuse  me — I " 

"  Zounds!  will  you  speak,  or  will  you  not?  " 

Chupin  regretted  that  he  had  gone  so  far. 

"  Because  the  marquis " 

"Well?" 

"  He  is  engaged  in  it." 

The  duke  overturned  the  table  with  a  terrible  blow 
of  his  clinched  fist. 

"  You  lie,  wretch !  "  he  thundered,  with  the  most 
horrible  oaths. 

He  was  so  formidable  in  his  anger  that  the  old 
poacher  sprang  to  the  door  and  turned  the  knob,  ready 
to  take  flight. 

"  May  I  lose  my  head  if  I  do  not  speak  the  truth," 
he  insisted.  "  Ah !  Lacheneur's  daughter  is  a  regular 
sorceress.  All  the  gallants  of  the  neighborhood  are 
in  the  ranks ;  Chanlouineau,  young  D'Escorval,  your 
son " 

M.  de  Sairmeuse  was  pouring  forth  a  torrent  of 
curses  upon  Marie-Anne  when  his  valet  re-entered  the 
room. 

He  suddenly  checked  himself,  put  on  his  uniform, 


176        THE   HONOR    OF   THE    NAME 

and  ordering  Chupin  to  follow  him,  hastened  from  the 
house. 

He  was  still  hoping  that  Chupin  had  exaggerated 
the  danger;  but  when  he  reached  the  Place  d'Arms, 
which  commanded  an  extended  view  of  the  surround- 
ing country,  his  illusions  were  put  to  flight. 

Signal-lights  gleamed  upon  every  side.  Montaignac 
seemed  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  flame. 

"  These  are  the  signals,"  murmured  Chupin.  "  The 
rebels  will  be  here  before  two  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

The  duke  made  no  response,  but  hastened  to  consult 
M.  de  Courtornieu. 

He  was  striding  toward  his  friend's  house  when,  on 
hastily  turning  a  corner,  he  saw  two  men  talking  in  a 
doorway,  and  on  seeing  the  glittering  of  the  duke's 
epaulets,  both  of  them  took  flight. 

The  duke  instinctively  started  in  pursuit,  overtook 
one  man,  and  seizing  him  by  the  collar,  he  asked,  stern- 
ly: 

"  Who  are  you  ?     What  is  your  name  ?  " 

The  man  was  silent,  and  his  captor  shook  him  so 
roughly  that  two  pistols,  which  had  been  hidden  under 
his  long  coat,  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  Ah,  brigand !  "  exclaimed  M.  de  Sairmeuse,  "  so 
you  are  one  of  the  conspirators  against  the  King  !  " 

Then,  without  another  word,  he  dragged  the  man  to 
the  citadel,  gave  him  in  charge  of  the  astonished  sol- 
diers, and  again  started  for  M.  de  Courtornieu's  house. 

He  expected  the  marquis  would  be  terrified ;  not  in 
the  least ;  he  seemed  delighted. 

"  At  last  there  comes  an  opportunity  for  us  to  dis- 
play our  devotion  and  our  zeal — and  without  danger ! 
We  have  good  walls,  strong  gates,  and  three  thousand 
soldiers  at  our  command.  These  peasants  are  fools ! 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    177 

But  be  grateful  for  their  folly,  my  dear  duke,  and  run 
and  order  out  the  Montaignac  chasseurs " 

But  suddenly  a  cloud  overspread  his  face ;  he  knit 
his  brows,  and  added: 

"  The  devil  !  I  am  expecting  Blanche  this  evening. 
She  was  to  leave  Courtornieu  after  dinner.  Heaven 
grant  that  she  may  meet  with  no  misfortune  on  the 
way ! " 

CHAPTER   XXI 

The  Due  de  Sairmeuse  and  the  Marquis  de  Cour- 
tornieu had  more  time  before  them  than  they  supposed. 

The  rebels  were  advancing,  but  not  so  rapidly  as 
Chupin  had  said. 

Two  circumstances,  which  it  was  impossible  to  fore- 
see, disarranged  Lacheneur's  plans. 

Standing  beside  his  burning1  house,  Lacheneur 
counted  the  signal  fires  that  blazed  out  in  answer  to  his 
own. 

Their  number  corresponded  to  his  expectations ;  he 
uttered  a  cry  of  joy. 

"  All  our  friends  keep  their  word !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  They  are  ready ;  they  are  even  now  on  their  way  to 
the  rendezvous.  Let  us  start  at  once,  for  we  must  be 
there  first !  " 

They  brought  him  his  horse,  and  his  foot  was  al- 
ready in  the  stirrup,  when  two  men  sprang  from  the 
neighboring  grove  and  darted  toward  him.  One  of 
them  seized  the  horse  by  the  bridle. 

"  Abbe  Midon !  "  exclaimed  Lacheneur,  in  profound 
astonishment ;  "  Monsieur  d'Escorval !  " 

And  foreseeing,  perhaps,  what  was  to  come,  he 
added,  in  a  tone  of  concentrated  fury : 


178        THE   HONOR   OF   THE    NAME 

"  What  do  you  two  men  want  with  me  ?  " 

"  We  wish  to  prevent  the  accomplishment  of  an  act 
of  madness !  "  exclaimed  M.  d'Escorval.  "  Hatred  has 
crazed  you,  Lacheneur !  " 

"  You  know  nothing  of  my  projects  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  do  not  suspect  them  ?  You 
hope  to  capture  Montaignac " 

"  What  does  that  matter  to  you  ? "  interrupted 
Lacheneur,  violently. 

But  M.  d'Escorval  would  not  be  silenced. 

He  seized  the  arm  of  his  former  friend,  and  in  a 
voice  loud  enough  to  be  heard  distinctly  by  everyone 
present,  he  continued : 

"  Foolish  man !  You  have  forgotten  that  Mon- 
taignac is  a  fortified  city,  protected  by  deep  moats  and 
high  walls !  You  have  forgotten  that  behind  these 
fortifications  is  a  garrison  commanded  by  a  man  whose 
energy  and  valor  are  beyond  all  question — the  Due 
de  Sairmeuse." 

Lacheneur  struggled  to  free  himself  from  his  friend's 
grasp. 

"  Everything  has  been  arranged,"  he  replied,  "  and 
they  are  expecting  us  at  Montaignac.  You  would  be 
as  sure  of  this  as  I  am  myself,  if  you  had  seen  the  light 
gleaming  on  the  windows  of  the  citadel.  And  look, 
you  can  see  it  yet.  This  light  tells  me  that  two  or 
three  hundred  retired  officers  will  come  to  open  the 
gates  of  the  city  for  us  as  soon  as  we  make  our  appear- 
ance." 

"  And  after  that !  If  you  take  Montaignac,  what 
will  you  do  then  ?  Do  you  suppose  that  the  English 
will  give  you  back  your  Emperor?  Is  not  Napoleon 
II.  the  prisoner  of  the  Austrians  ?  Have  you  forgotten 
that  the  allied  sovereigns  have  left  one  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  soldiers  within  a  day's  march  of  Paris  ?  " 


THE   HONOR   OF'  THE   NAME        179 

Sullen  murmurs  were  heard  among  Lacheneur's  fol- 
lowers. 

"  But  all  this  is  nothing,"  continued  the  baron. 
"  The  chief  danger  lies  in  the  fact  that  there  are  as 
many  traitors  as  dupes  in  an  undertaking  of  this  sort." 

"  Whom  do  you  call  dupes,  Monsieur  ?  " 

"  All  those  who  take  their  illusions  for  realities,  as 
you  have  done ;  all  those  who,  because  they  desire  any- 
thing very  much,  really  believe  that  it  will  come  to 
pass.  Do  you  really  suppose  that  neither  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse  nor  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  has  been 
warned  of  it  ?  " 

Lacheneur  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Who  could  have  warned  them  ?  " 

But  his  tranquillity  was  feigned ;  the  look  which  he 
cast  upon  Jean  proved  it. 

And  it  was  in  the  coldest  possible  tone  that  he  added : 
•  "  It  is  probable  that  at  this  very  hour  the  duke  and 
the  marquis  are  in  the  power  of  our  friends." 

The  cure  now  attempted  to  join  his  efforts  to  those  of 
the  baron. 

"  You  will  not  go,  Lacheneur,"  he  said.  "  You  will 
not  remain  deaf  to  the  voice  of  reason.  You  are  an 
honest  man ;  think  of  the  frightful  responsibility  you 
assume  !  What !  upon  these  frail  hopes,  you  dare  to 
peril  the  lives  of  hundreds  of  brave  men?  I  tell  you 
that  you  will  not  succeed  ;  you  will  be  betrayed ;  I  am 
sure  you  will  be  betrayed !  " 

An  expression  of  horror  contracted  Lacheneur's 
features.  It  was  evident  to  all  that  he  was  deeply 
moved. 

It  is  impossible  to  say  what  might  have  happened 
had  it  not  been  for  the  intervention  of  Chanlouineau. 

This  sturdy  peasant  came  forward,  brandishing  his 
gun. 


i8o        THE   HONOR    OF   THE    NAME 

"  We  are  wasting  too  much  time  in  foolish  prat- 
tling," he  exclaimed  with  a  fierce  oath. 

Lacheneur  started  as  if  he  had  been  struck  by  a  whip. 
He  rudely  freed  himself  and  leaped  into  the  saddle. 

"  Forward !  "  he  ordered. 

But  the  baron  and  the  priest  did  not  yet  despair ; 
they  sprang  to  the  horse's  head. 

"  Lacheneur,"  cried  the  priest,  "  beware !  The 
blood  you  are  about  to  spill  will  fall  upon  your  head, 
and  upon  the  heads  of  your  children  !  " 

Appalled  by  these  prophetic  words,  the  little  band 
paused. 

Then  someone  issued  from  the  ranks,  clad  in  the  cos- 
tume of  a  peasant. 

"  Marie-Anne  !  "  exclaimed  the  abbe  and  the  baron 
in  the  same  breath. 

"  Yes,  I,"  responded  the  young  girl,  removing  the 
large  hat  which  had  partially  concealed  her  face ;  "  I- 
wish  to  share  the  dangers  of  those  who  are  dear  to  me 
— share  in  their  victory  or  their  defeat.  Your  counsel 
comes  too  late,  gentlemen.  Do  you  see  those  lights  on 
the  horizon?  They  tell  us  that  the  people  of  these 
communes  are  repairing  to  the  cross-roads  at  the 
Croix  d'Arcy,  the  general  rendezvous.  Before  two 
o'clock  fifteen  hundred  men  will  be  gathered  there 
awaiting  my  father's  commands.  Would  you  have 
him  leave  these  men,  whom  he  has  called  from  their 
peaceful  firesides,  without  a  leader?  Impossible!'' 

She  evidently  shared  the  madness  of  her  lover  and 
father,  even  if  she  did  not  share  all  their  hopes. 

"  No,  there  must  be  no  more  hesitation,  no  more 
parleying,"  she  continued.  "  Prudence  now  would  be 
the  height  of  folly.  There  is  no  more  danger  in  a  re- 
treat than  in  an  advance.  Do  not  try  to  detain  my 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    181 

father,  gentlemen ;  each  moment  of  delay  may,  per- 
haps, cost  a  man's  life.  And  now,  my  friends,  for- 
ward!" 

A  loud  cheer  answered  her,  and  the  little  band  de- 
scended the  hill. 

But  M.  d'Escorval  could  not  allow  his  own  son, 
whom  he  saw  in  the  ranks,  to  depart  thus. 

"  Maurice !  "  he  cried. 

The  young  man  hesitated,  but  at  last  approached. 

"  You  will  not  follow  these  madmen,  Maurice  ?  " 
said  the  baron. 

"  I  must  follow  them,  father." 

"  I  forbid  it." 

"  Alas  !  father,  I  cannot  obey  you.  I  have  promised 
— I  have  sworn.  I  am  second  in  command." 

His  voice  was  sad,  but  it  was  determined. 

"  My  son !  "  exclaimed  M.  d'Escorval ;  "  unfortu- 
nate child ! — it  is  to  certain  death  that  you  are  march- 
ing— to  certain  death." 

"  All  the  more  reason  that  I  should  not  break  my 
word,  father." 

"  And  your  mother,  Maurice,  the  mother  whom  you 
forget!" 

A  tear  glistened  in  the  young  man's  eye. 

"  My  mother,"  he  replied,  "  would  rather  weep  for 
her  dead  son  than  keep  him  near  her  dishonored,  and 
branded  with  the  names  of  coward  and  traitor.  Fare- 
well !  my  father." 

M.  d'Escorval  appreciated  the  nobility  of  soul  that 
Maurice  displayed  in  his  conduct.  He  extended  his 
arms,  and  pressed  his  beloved  son  convulsively  to  his 
heart,  feeling  that  it  might  be  for  the  last  time. 

"  Farewell  !  "  he  faltered,  "  farewell  !  " 

Maurice  soon  rejoined  his  comrades,  whose  acclama- 


i82        THE    HONOR    OF   THE    NAME 

tions  were  growing  fainter  and  fainter  in  the  distance ; 
but  the  baron  stood  motionless,  overwhelmed  with  sor- 
row. 

Suddenly  he  started  from  his  revery. 

"  A  single  hope  remains,  Abbe  !  "  he  cried. 

"  Alas  !  "  murmured  the  priest. 

"  Oh — I  am  not  mistaken.  Marie-Anne  just  told 
us  the  place  of  rendezvous.  By  running  to  Escorval 
and  harnessing  the  cabriolet,  we  might  be  able  to  reach 
the  Croix  d'Arcy  before  this  party  arrive  there.  Your 
voice,  which  touched  Lacheneur,  will  touch  the  heart 
of  his  accomplices.  We  will  persuade  these  poor,  mis- 
guided men  to  return  to  their  homes.  Come,  Abbe; 
come  quickly !  " 

And  they  departed  on  the  run. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

The  clock  in  the  tower  of  Sairmeuse  was  striking  the 
hour  of  eight  when  Lacheneur  and  his  little  band  of 
followers  left  the  Reche. 

An  hour  later,  at  the  Chateau  de  Courtornieu,  Mile. 
Blanche,  after  finishing  her  dinner,  ordered  the  car- 
riage to  convey  her  to  Montaignac.  Since  her  father 
had  taken  up  his  abode  in  town  they  met  only  on  Sun- 
day; on  that  day  either  Blanche  went  to  Montaignac, 
or  the  marquis  paid  a  visit  to  the  chateau. 

Hence  this  proposed  journey  was  a  deviation  from 
the  regular  order  of  things.  It  was  explained,  how- 
ever, by  grave  circumstances. 

It  was  six  days  since  Martial  had  presented  himself 
at  Courtornieu:  and  Blanche  was  half  crazed  with 
grief  and  rage. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    183 

What  Aunt  Medea  was  forced  to  endure  during  this 
interval,  only  poor  dependents  in  rich  families  can 
understand. 

For  the  first  three  days  Mile.  Blanche  succeeded  in 
preserving  a  semblance  of  self-control ;  on  the  fourth 
she  could  endure  it  no  longer,  and  in  spite  of  the 
breach  of  "  les  convenances  "  which  it  involved,  she  sent 
a  messenger  to  Sairmeuse  to  inquire  for  Martial.  Was 
he  ill — had  he  gone  away? 

The  messenger  was  informed  that  the  marquis  was 
perfectly  well,  but,  as  he  spent  the  entire  day,  from 
early  morn  to  dewy  eve,  in  hunting,  he  went  to  bed 
every  evening  as  soon  as  supper  was  over. 

WThat  a  horrible  insult !  Still,  she  was  certain  that 
Martial,  on  hearing  what  she  had  done,  would  hasten 
to  her  to  make  his  excuses.  Vain  hope !  He  did  not 
come ;  he  did  not  even  condescend  to  give  one  sign  of 
life. 

"  Ah !  doubtless  he  is  with  her,"  she  said  to  Aunt 
Medea.  "  He  is  on  his  knees  before  that  miserable 
Marie-Anne — his  mistress." 

For  she  had  finished  by  believing — as  is  not  unfre- 
quently  the  case — the  very  calumnies  which  she  her- 
self had  invented. 

In  this  extremity  she  decided  to  make  her  father  her 
confidant ;  and  she  wrote  him  a  note  announcing  her 
coming. 

She  wished  her  father  to  compel  Lacheneur  to  leave 
the  country.  This  would  be  an  easy  matter  for  him, 
since  he  was  armed  with  discretionary  authority  at  an 
epoch  when  lukewarm  devotion  afforded  an  abundant 
excuse  for  sending  a  man  into  exile. 

Fully  decided  upon  this  plan,  Blanche  became 
calmer  on  leaving  the  chateau;  and  her  hopes  over- 


i84        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

flowed  in  incoherent  phrases,  to  which  poor  Aunt 
Medea  listened  with  her  accustomed  resignation. 

"  At  last  I  shall  be  rid  of  this  shameless  creature !  " 
she  exclaimed.  "  We  will  see  if  he  has  the  audacity  to 
follow  her!  Will  he  follow  her?  Oh,  no;  he  dare 
not !  " 

When  the  carriage  passed  through  the  village  of 
Sairmeuse,  Mile.  Blanche  noticed  an  unwonted  anima- 
tion. 

There  were  lights  in  every  house,  the  saloons  seemed 
full  of  drinkers,  and  groups  of  people  were  standing 
upon  the  public  square  and  upon  the  doorsteps. 

But  what  did  this  matter  to  Mile,  de  Courtornieu! 
It  was  not  until  they  were  a  mile  or  so  from  Sairmeuse 
that  she  was  startled  from  her  revery. 

"  Listen,  Aunt  Medea,"  she  said,  suddenly.  "  Do 
you  hear  anything?  " 

The  poor  dependent  listened.  Both  occupants  of 
the  carriage  heard  shouts  that  became  more  and  more 
distinct  with  each  revolution  of  the  wheels. 

"  Let  us  find  out  the  meaning  of  this,"  said  Mile. 
Blanche. 

And  lowering  one  of  the  carriage-windows,  she 
asked  the  coachman  the  cause  of  the  disturbance. 

"  I  see  a  great  crowd  of  peasants  on  the  hill ;  they 
have  torches  and " 

"  Blessed  Jesus ! "  interrupted  Aunt  Medea,  in 
alarm. 

"  It  must  be  a  wedding,"  added  the  coachman, 
whipping  up  his  horses. 

It  was  not  a  wedding,  but  Lacheneur's  little  band, 
which  had  been  augmented  to  the  number  of  about  five 
hundred. 

Lacheneur  should  have  been  at  the  Croix  d'Arcy 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    185 

two  hours  before.  But  he  had  shared  the  fate  of  most 
popular  chiefs.  When  an  impetus  had  been  given  to 
the  movement  he  was  no  longer  master  of  it. 

Baron  d'Escorval  had  made  him  lose  twenty  min- 
utes ;  he  was  delayed  four  times  as  long  in  Sairmeuse. 
When  he  reached  that  village,  a  little  behind  time,  he 
found  the  peasants  scattered  through  the  wine-shops, 
drinking  to  the  success  of  the  enterprise. 

To  tear  them  from  their  merry-making  was  a  long 
and  difficult  task. 

And  to  crown  all,  when  they  were  finally  induced  to 
resume  their  line  of  march,  it  was  impossible  to  per- 
suade them  to  extinguish  the  pine  knots  which  they 
had  lighted  to  serve  as  torches. 

Prayers  and  threats  were  alike  unavailing.  "  They 
wished  to  see  their  way,"  they  said. 

Poor  deluded  creatures !  They  had  not  the  slight- 
est conception  of  the  difficulties  and  the  perils  of  the 
enterprise  they  had  undertaken. 

They  were  going  to  capture  a  fortified  city,  defended 
by  a  numerous  garrison,  as  if  they  were  bound  on  a 
pleasure  jaunt. 

Gay,  thoughtless,  and  animated  by  the  imperturba- 
ble confidence  of  a  child,  they  were  marching  along, 
arm  in  arm,  singing  patriotic  songs. 

On  horseback,  in  the  centre  of  the  band,  M.  Lache- 
neur  felt  his  hair  turning  white  with  anguish. 

Would  not  this  delay  ruin  everything?  What  would 
the  others,  who  were  waiting  at  the  Croix  d'Arcy, 
think  !  What  were  they  doing  at  this  very  moment  ? 

"  Onward !    onward  !  "  he  repeated. 

Maurice,  Chanlouineau,  Jean,  Marie-Anne,  and 
about  twenty  of  the  old  soldiers  of  the  Empire,  under- 
stood and  shared  Lacheneur's  despair.  They  knew 


i86        THE    HONOR    OF   THE    NAME 

the  terrible  danger  they  were  incurring,  and  they,  too, 
repeated : 

"  Faster !    Let  us  march  faster !  " 

Vain  exhortation !  It  pleased  these  people  to  go 
slowly. 

Suddenly  the  entire  band  stopped.  Some  of  the 
peasants,  chancing  to  look  back,  had  seen  the  lamps  of 
Mile,  de  Courtornieu's  carriage  gleaming  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

It  came  rapidly  onward,  and  soon  overtook  them. 
The  peasants  recognized  the  coachman's  livery,  and 
greeted  the  vehicle  with  shouts  of  derision. 

M.  de  Courtornieu,  by  his  avariciousness,  had  made 
even  more  enemies  tnan  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse ;  and 
all  the  peasants  who  thought  they  had  more  or  less 
reason  to  complain  of  his  extortions  were  delighted  at 
this  opportunity  to  frighten  him. 

For,  that  they  were  not  thinking  of  vengeance,  is 
conclusively  proved  by  the  sequel. 

Hence  great  was  their  disappointment  when,  on 
opening  the  carriage-door,  they  saw  within  the  vehicle 
only  Mile.  Blanche  and  Aunt  Medea,  who  uttered  the 
most  piercing  shrieks. 

But  Mile,  de  Courtornieu  was  a  brave  woman. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  she  demanded,  haughtily,  "  and 
what  do  you  desire  ?  " 

"  You  will  know  to-morrow,"  replied  Chanlouineau. 
"  Until  then,  you  are  our  prisoner." 

"  I  see  that  you  do  not  know  who  I  am,  boy." 

"  Excuse  me.  I  do  know  who  you  are,  and,  for  this 
very  reason,  I  request  you  to  descend  from  your  car- 
riage. She  must  leave  the  carriage,  must  she  not,  Mon- 
sieur d'Escorval  ?  " 

"  Very  well !  I  declare  that  I  will  not  leave  my  car- 
riage ;  tear  me  from  it  if  you  dare  !  " 


i87 

They  would  certainly  have  dared  had  it  not  been 
for  Marie-Anne,  who  checked  some  peasants  as  they 
were  springing  toward  the  carriage. 

"  Let  Mademoiselle  de  Courtornieu  pass  without 
hinderance,"  said  she. 

But  this  permission  might  produce  such  serious  con- 
sequences that  Chanlouineau  found  courage  to  resist. 

"  That  cannot  be,  Marie-Anne,"  said  he ;  "  she  will 
warn  her  father.  We  must  keep  her  as  a  hostage ;  her 
life  may  save  the  life  of  our  friends." 

Mile.  Blanche  had  not  recognized  her  former  friend, 
any  more  than  she  had  suspected  the  intentions  of  this 
crowd  of  men. 

But  Marie-Anne's  name,  uttered  with  that  of  D'Es- 
corval  enlightened  her  at  once. 

She  understood  it  all,  and  trembled  with  rage  at  the 
thought  that  she  was  at  the  mercy  of  her  rival.  She 
resolved  to  place  herself  under  no  obligation  to  Marie- 
Anne  Lacheneur. 

"  Very  well,"  said  she,  "  we  will  descend." 

Her  former  friend  checked  her. 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  no !  This  is  not  the  place  for  a 
young  girl." 

"  For  an  honest  young  girl,  you  should  say,"  replied 
Blanche,  with  a  sneer. 

Chanlouineau  was  standing  only  a  few  feet  from  the 
speaker  with  his  gun  in  his  hand.  If  a  man  had  uttered 
those  words  he  would  have  been  instantly  killed. 
Marie-Anne  did  not  deign  to  notice  them. 

"  Mademoiselle  will  turn  back,"  she  said,  calmly  ; 
"  and  as  she  can  reach  Montaignac  by  the  other  road, 
two  men  will  accompany  her  as  far  as  Courtornieu." 

She  was  obeyed.  The  carriage  turned  and  rolled 
away,  but  not  so  quickly  that  Marie-Anne  failed  to 
hear  Blanche  cry: 


i88        THE   HONOR    OF   THE   NAME 

"  Beware,  Marie !  I  will  make  you  pay  dearly  for 
your  insulting  patronage  !  " 

The  hours  were  flying  by.  This  incident  had  occu- 
pied ten  minutes  more — ten  centuries — and  the  last 
trace  of  order  had  disappeared. 

M.  Lacheneur  could  have  wept  with  rage.  He 
called  Maurice  and  Chanlouineau. 

"  I  place  you  in  command,"  said  he ;  "  do  all  that 
you  can  to  hurry  these  idiots  onward.  I  will  ride  as 
fast  as  I  can  to  the  Croix  d'Arcy." 

He  started,  but  he  was  only  a  short  distance  in. ad- 
vance of  his  followers  when  he  saw  two  men  running 
toward  him  at  full  speed.  One  was  clad  in  the  attire 
of  a  well-to-do  bourgeois ;  the  other  wore  the  old  uni- 
form of  captain  in  the  Emperor's  guard. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  Lacheneur  cried,  in  alarm. 

"  All  is  discovered !  " 

"  Great  God !  " 

"  Major  Carini  has  been  arrested." 

"By  whom?     How?" 

"  Ah  !  there  was  a  fatality  about  it  !  Just  as  we  were 
perfecting  our  arrangements  to  capture  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse,  the  duke  surprised  us.  We  fled,  but 
the  cursed  noble  pursued  us,  overtook  Carini,  seized 
him  by  the  collar,  and  dragged  him  to  the  citadel." 

Lacheneur  was  overwhelmed;  the  abbe's  gloomy 
prophecy  again  resounded  in  his  ears. 

"  So  I  warned  my  friends,  and  hastened  to  warn 
you,"  continued  the  officer.  "  The  affair  is  an  utter 
failure !  " 

He  was  only  too  correct ;  and  Lacheneur  knew  it 
even  better  than  he  did.  But,  blinded  by  hatred  and 
anger,  he  would  not  acknowledge  that  the  disaster  was 
irreparable. 


"  Let  Mademoiselle  de  Courtornieu  pass  without  hinderance." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    189 

He  affected  a  calmness  which  he  did  not  in  the  least 
feel. 

"  You  are  easily  discouraged,  gentlemen,"  he  said, 
bitterly.  "  There  is,  at  least,  one  more  chance." 

"  The  devil  !^  Then  you  have  resources  of  which  we 
are  ignorant  ?  " 

"  Perhaps — that  depends.  You  have  just  passed  the 
Croix  d'Arcy;  did  you  tell  any  of  those  people  what 
you  have  just  told  me  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  How  many  men  are  there  at  the  rendezvous  ?  " 

"  At  least  two  thousand." 

"  And  what  is  their  mood  ?  " 

"  They  are  burning  to  begin  the  struggle.  They 
are  cursing  our  slowness,  and  told  me  to  entreat  you 
to  make  haste." 

"  In  that  case  our  cause  is  not  lost,"  said  Lacheneur, 
with  a  threatening  gesture.  "  Wait  here  until  the 
peasants  come  up,  and  .say  to  them  that  you  were  sent 
to  tell  them  to  make  haste.  Bring  them  on  as  quickly 
as  possible,  and  have  confidence  in  me;  I  will  be  re- 
sponsible for  the  success  of  the  enterprise." 

He  said  this,  then  putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  gal- 
loped away.  He  had  deceived  the  men.  He  had  no 
other  resources.  He  did  not  have  the  slightest  hope 
of  success.  It  was  an  abominable  falsehood.  But,  if 
this  edifice,  which  he  had  erected  with  such  care  and 
labor,  was  to  totter  and  fall,  he  desired  to  be  buried  be- 
neath its  ruins.  They  would  be  defeated ;  he  was  sure 
of  it,  but  what  did  that  matter?  In  the  conflict  he 
would  seek  death  and  find  it. 

Bitter  discontent  pervaded  the  crowd  at  the  Croix 
d'Arcy ;  and  after  the  passing  of  the  officers,  who  had 
hastened  to  warn  Lacheneur  of  the  disaster  at  Mon- 


i9o        THE   HONOR    OF   THE   NAME 

taignac,  the  murmurs  of  dissatisfaction  were  changed 
to  curses. 

These  peasants,  nearly  two  thousand  in  number, 
were  indignant  at  not  finding  their  leader  awaiting 
them  at  the  rendezvous. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  they  asked.  "  Who  knows  but  he 
is  afraid  at  the  last  moment?  Perhaps  he  is  conceal- 
ing himself  while  we  are  risking  our  lives  and  the  bread 
of  our  children  here." 

And  already  the  epithets  of  mischief-maker  and  trai- 
tor were  flying  from  lip  to  lip,  and  increasing  the  anger 
in  every  breast. 

Some  were  of  the  opinion  that  the  crowd  should  dis- 
perse; others  wished  to  march  against  Montaignac 
without  Lacheneur,  and  that,  immediately. 

But  these  deliberations  were  interrupted  by  the  furi- 
ous gallop  of  a  horse. 

A  carriage  appeared,  and  stopped  in  the  centre  of  the 
open  space. 

Two  men  alighted;  Baron  d'Escorval  and  Abbe 
Midon. 

They  were  in  advance  of  Lacheneur.  They  thought 
they  had  arrived  in  time. 

Alas !  here,  as  on  the  Reche,  all  their  efforts,  all  their 
entreaties,  and  all  their  threats  were  futile. 

They  had  come  in  the  hope  of  arresting  the  move- 
ment ;  they  only  precipitated  it. 

"  We  have  gone  too  far  to  draw  back,"  exclaimed 
one  of  the  neighboring  farmers,  who  was  the  recog- 
nized leader  in  Lacheneur's  absence.  "  If  death  is  be- 
fore us,  it  is  also  behind  us.  To  attack  and  conquer — 
that  is  our  only  hope  of  salvation.  Forward,  then,  at 
once.  That  is  the  only  way  of  disconcerting  our  ene- 
mies. He  who  hesitates  is  a  coward  !  Forward  !  " 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    191 

A  shout  of  approval  from  two  thousand  throats  re- 
plied : 

"  Forward !  " 

They  unfurled  the  tri-color,  that  much  regretted  flag 
that  reminded  them  of  so  much  glory,  and  so  many 
great  misfortunes ;  the  drums  began  to  beat,  and  with 
shouts  of:  "Vive  Napoleon  II.!"  the  whole  column 
took  up  its  line  of  march. 

Pale,  with  clothing  in  disorder,  and  voices  husky 
with  fatigue  and  emotion,  M.  d'Escorval  and  the  abbe 
followed  the  rebels,  imploring  them  to  listen  to  reason. 

They  saw  the  precipice  toward  which  these  mis- 
guided creatures  were  rushing,  and  they  prayed  God 
for  an  inspiration  to  check  them. 

In  fifty  minutes  the  distance  separating  the  Croix 
d'Arcy  from  Montaignac  is  traversed. 

Soon  they  see  the  gate  of  the  citadel,  which  was  to 
have  been  opened  for  them  by  their  friends  within  the 
walls. 

It  is  eleven  o'clock,  and  yet  this  gate  stands  open. 

Does  not  this  circumstance  prove  that  their  friends 
are  masters  of  the  town,  and  that  they  are  awaiting 
them  in  force  ? 

They  advance,  so  certain  of  success  that  those  who 
have  guns  do  not  even  take  the  trouble  to  load  them. 

M.  d'Escorval  and  the  abbe  alone  foresee  the  catas- 
trophe. 

The  leader  of  the  expedition  is  near  them,  they  en- 
treat him  not  to  neglect  the  commonest  precautions, 
they  implore  him  to  send  some  two  men  on  in  advance 
to  reconnoitre ;  they,  themselves,  offer  to  go,  on  con- 
dition that  the  peasants  will  await  their  return  before 
proceeding  farther. 

But  their  prayers  are  unheeded. 


i92        THE   HONOR    OF   THE   NAME 

The  peasants  pass  the  outer  line  of  fortifications  in 
safety.  The  head  of  the  advancing  column  reaches 
the  drawbridge. 

The  enthusiasm  amounts  to  delirium ;  who  will  be 
the  first  to  enter  is  the  only  thought. 

Alas !  at  that  very  moment  a  pistol  is  fired. 

It  is  a  signal,  for  instantly,  and  on  every  side,  re- 
sounds a  terrible  fusillade. 

Three  or  four  peasants  fall,  mortally  wounded.  The 
rest  pause,  frozen  with  terror,  thinking  only  of  escape. 

The  indecision  is  terrible ;  but  the  leader  encourages 
his  men,  there  are  a  few  of  Napoleon's  old  soldiers  in 
the  ranks.  A  struggle  begins,  all  the  more  frightful  by 
reason  of  the  darkness  ! 

But  it  is  not  the  cry  of  "  Forward !  "  that  suddenly 
rends  the  air. 

The  voice  of  a  coward  sends  up  the  cry  of  panic : 

"  We  are  betrayed !  Let  him  save  himself  who 
can !  " 

This  is  the  end  of  all  order.  A  wild  fear  seizes  the 
throng;  and  these  men  flee  madly,  despairingly,  scat- 
tered as  withered  leaves  are  scattered  by  the  power  of 
the  tempest. 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

Chupin's  stupefying  revelations  and  the  thought  that 
Martial,  the  heir  of  his  name  and  dukedom,  should 
degrade  himself  so  low  as  to  enter  into  a  conspiracy 
with  vulgar  peasants,  drove  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse 
nearly  wild. 

But  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu's  coolness  restored 
the  duke's  sang-froid. 

He  ran  to  the  barracks,  and  in  less  than  half  an  hour 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    193 

five  hundred  foot-soldiers  and  three  hundred  of  the 
Montaignac  chasseurs  were  under  arms. 

With  these  forces  at  his  disposal  it  would  have  been 
easy  enough  to  suppress  this  movement  without  the 
least  bloodshed.  It  was  only  necessary  to  close  the 
gates  of  the  city.  It  was  not  with  fowling-pieces  and 
clubs  that  these  poor  peasants  could  force  an  entrance 
into  a  fortified  town. 

But  such  moderation  did  not  suit  a  man  of  the  duke's 
violent  temperament,  a  man  who  was  ever  longing  for 
struggle  and  excitement,  a  man  whose  ambition 
prompted  him  to  display  his  zeal. 

He  had  ordered  the  gate  of  the  citadel  to  be  left 
open,  and  had  concealed  some  of  his  soldiers  behind 
the  parapets  of  the  outer  fortifications. 

He  then  stationed  himself  where  he  could  command 
a  view  of  the  approach  to  the  citadel,  and  deliberately 
chose  his  moment  for  giving  the  signal  to  fire. 

Still,  a  strange  thing  happened.  Of  four  hundred 
shots,  fired  into  a  dense  crowd  of  fifteen  hundred  men, 
only  three  had  hit  the  mark. 

.\   More  humane  than  their  chief,  nearly  all  the  soldiers 
had  fired  in  the  air. 

But  the  duke  had  not  time  to  investigate  this  strange 
occurrence  now.  He  leaped  into  the  saddle,  and 
placing  himself  at  the  head  of  about  five  hundred  men, 
cavalry  and  infantry,  he  started  in  pursuit  of  the  fugi- 
tives. 

The  peasants  had  the  advantage  of  their  pursuers  by 
about  twenty  minutes. 

Poor  simple  creatures ! 

They  might  easily  have  made  their  escape.     They 
had  only  to  disperse,  to  scatter;    but,  unfortunately, 
the  thought  never  once  occurred  to  the  majority  of 
13 


i94        THE   HONOR   OF   THE    NAME 

them.  A  few  ran  across  the  fields  and  gained  their 
homes  in  safety;  the  others,  frantic  and  despairing, 
overcome  by  the  strange  vertigo  that  seizes  the  bravest 
in  moments  of  panic,  fled  like  a  flock  of  frightened 
sheep. 

Fear  lent  them  wings,  for  did  they  not  hear  each 
moment  shots  fired  at  the  laggards  ? 

But  there  was  one  man,  who,  at  each  of  these  detona- 
tions, received,  as  it  were,  his  death-wound — this  man 
was  Lacheneur. 

He  had  reached  the  Croix  d'Arcy  just  as  the  firing 
at  Montaignac  began.  He  listened  and  waited.  No 
discharge  of  musketry  replied  to  the  first  fusillade. 
There  might  have  been  butchery,  but  combat,  no. 

Lacheneur  understood  it  all ;  and  he  wished  that 
every  ball  had  pierced  his  own  heart. 

He  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  galloped  to  the  cross- 
roads. The  place  was  deserted.  At  the  entrance  of 
one  of  the  roads  stood  the  cabriolet  which  had  brought 
M.  d'Escorval  and  the  abbe. 

At  last  M.  Lacheneur  saw  the  fugitives  approaching 
in  the  distance.  He  dashed  forward  to  meet  them, 
trying  by  mingled  curses  and  insults  to  stay  their  flight. 

"  Cowards !  "  he  vociferated,  "  traitors !  You  flee — 
and  you  are  ten  against  one !  Where  are  you  going  ? 
To  your  own  homes.  Fools  !  you  will  find  the  gen- 
darmes there  only  awaiting  your  coming  to  conduct 
you  to  the  scaffold.  Is  it  not  better  to  die  with  your 
weapons  in  your  hands?  Come — right  about.  Fol- 
low me!  We  may  still  conquer.  Re-inforcements 
are  at  hand ;  two  thousand  men  are  following  me !  " 

He  promised  them  two  thousand  men;  had  he 
promised  them  ten  thousand,  twenty  thousand — an 
army  and  cannon,  it  would  have  made  no  difference. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    195 

Not  until  they  reached  the  wide-open  space  of  the 
cross-roads,  where  they  had  talked  so  confidently 
scarcely  an  hour  before,  did  the  most  intelligent  of  the 
throng  regain  their  senses,  while  the  others  fled  in 
every  direction. 

About  a  hundred  of  the  bravest  and  most  determined 
of  the  conspirators  gathered  around  M.  Lacheneur. 
In  the  little  crowd  was  the  abbe,  gloomy  and  despond- 
ent. He  had  been  separated  from  the  baron.  What 
had  been  his  fate  ?  Had  he  been  killed  or  taken  pris- 
oner? Was  it  possible  that  he  had  made  his  escape? 

The  worthy  priest  dared  not  go  away.  He  waited, 
hoping  that  his  companion  might  rejoin  him,  and 
deemed  himself  fortunate  in  finding  the  carriage  still 
there.  He  was  still  waiting  when  the  remnant  of  the 
column  confided  to  Maurice  and  Chanlouineau  came 
up. 

Of  the  five  hundred  men  that  composed  it  on  its  de- 
parture from  Sairmeuse,  only  fifteen  remained,  includ- 
ing the  two  retired  officers. 

Marie- Anne  was  in  the  centre  of  this  little  party. 

M.  Lacheneur  and  his  friends  were  trying  to  decide 
what  course  it  was  best  for  them  to  pursue.  Should  each 
man  go  his  way  ?  or  should  they  unite,  and  by  an  ob- 
stinate resistance,  give  all  their  comrades  time  to  reach 
their  homes  ? 

The  voice  of  Chanlouineau  put  an  end  to  all  hesita- 
tion. 

"  I  have  come  to  fight,"  he  exclaimed,  "  and  I  shall 
sell  my  life  dearly." 

"  We  will  make  a  stand  then  !"  cried  the  others. 

But  Chanlouineau  did  not  follow  them  to  the  spot 
which  they  had  considered  best  adapted  to  the  pro- 
longed defence ;  he  called  Maurice  and  drew  him  a  lit- 
tle aside. 


196        THE   HONOR    OF   THE   NAME 

"  You,  Monsieur  d'Escorval,"  he  said,  almost  rough- 
ly, "  are  going  to  leave  here  and  at  once." 

"  I — I  came  here,  Chanlouineau,  as  you  did,  to  do 
my  duty." 

"  Your  duty,  Monsieur,  is  to  serve  Marie-Anne. 
Go  at  once,  and  take  her  with  you." 

"  I  shall  remain,"  said  Maurice,  firmly. 

He  was  going  to  join  his  comrades  when  Chanloui- 
neau stopped  him. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  sacrifice  your  life  here,"  he 
said,  quietly.  "  Your  life  belongs  to  the  woman  who 
has  given  herself  to  you." 

"  Wretch !  how  dare  you !  " 

Chanlouineau  sadly  shook  his  head. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  denying  it?  "  said  he. 

"  It  was  so  great  a  temptation  that  only  an  angel 
could  have  resisted  it.  It  was  not  your  fault,  nor  was 
it  hers.  Lacheneur  was  a  bad  father.  There  was  a 
day  when  I  wished  either  to  kill  myself  or  to  kill  you, 
I  knew  not  which.  Ah !  only  once  again  will  you  be 
as  near  death  as  you  were  that  day.  You  were  scarce- 
ly five  paces  from  the  muzzle  of  my  gun.  It  was  God 
who  stayed  my  hand  by  reminding  me  of  her  despair. 
Now  that  I  am  to  die,  as  well  as  Lacheneur,  someone 
must  care  for  Marie-Anne.  Swear  that  you  will  marry 
her.  You  may  be  involved  in  some  difficulty  on  ac- 
count of  this  affair ;  but  I  have  here  the  means  of  sav- 
ing you." 

A  sound  of  firing  interrupted  him ;  the  soldiers  of 
the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  were  approaching. 

"  Good  God  !  "  exclaimed  Chanlouineau,  "  and 
Marie-Anne !  " 

They  rushed  in  pursuit  of  her,  and  Maurice  was  the 
first  to  discover  her,  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  open 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    197 

space  clinging  to  the  neck  of  her  father's  horse.  He 
took  her  in  his  arms,  trying  to  drag  her  away. 

"  Come !  "  said  he,  "  come !  " 

But  she  refused. 

"  Leave  me,  leave  me !  "  she  entreated. 

"  But  all  is  lost !  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  that  all  is  lost — even  honor.  Leave 
me  here.  I  must  remain;  I  must  die,  and  thus  hide 
my  shame.  It  must,  it  shall  be  so !  " 

Just  then  Chanlouineau  appeared. 

Had  he  divined  the  secret  of  her  resistance?  Per- 
haps ;  but  without  uttering  a  word,  he  lifted  her  in  his 
strong  arms  as  if  she  had  been  a  child  and  bore  her  to 
the  carriage  guarded  by  Abbe  Midon. 

"  Get  in,"  he  said,  addressing  the  priest,  "  and  quick 
— take  Mademoiselle  Lacheneur.  Now,  Maurice,  in 
your  turn !  " 

But  already  the  duke's  soldiers  were  masters  of  the 
field.  Seeing  a  group  in  the  shadow,  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, they  rushed  to  the  spot. 

The  heroic  Chanlouineau  seized  his  gun,  and  bran- 
dishing it  like  a  club,  held  the  enemy  at  bay,  giving 
Maurice  time  to  spring  into  the  carriage,  catch  the 
reins  and  start  the  horse  off  at  a  gallop. 

All  the  cowardice  and  all  the  heroism  displayed  on 
that  terrible  night  will  never  be  really  known. 

Two  minutes  after  the  departure  of  Marie- Anne  and 
of  Maurice,  Chanlouineau  was  still  battling  with  the 
foe. 

A  dozen  or  more  soldiers  were  in  front  of  him. 
Twenty  shots  had  been  fired,  but  not  a  ball  had  struck 
him.  His  enemies  always  believed  him  invulnerable. 

"  Surrender !  "  cried  the  soldiers,  amazed  by  such 
valor ;  "  surrender !  " 


i98        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

"  Never !  never !  " 

He  was  truly  formidable ;  he  brought  to  the  support 
of  his  marvellous  courage  a  superhuman  strength  and 
agility.  No  one  dared  come  within  reach  of  those 
brawny  arms,  that  revolved  with  the. power  and  veloc- 
ity of  the  sails  of  a  wind-mill. 

Then  it  was  that  a  soldier,  confiding  his  musket  to 
the  care  of  a  companion,  threw  himself  flat  upon  his 
belly,  and  crawling  unobserved  around  behind  this  ob- 
scure hero,  seized  him  by  the  legs.  He  tottered  like 
an  oak  beneath  the  blow  of  the  axe,  struggled  furiously, 
but  taken  at  such  a  disadvantage  was  thrown  to  the 
ground,  crying,  as  he  fell : 

"Help!  friends,  help !" 

But  no  one  responded  to  this  appeal. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  open  space  those  upon  whom 
he  called  had,  after  a  desperate  struggle,  yielded. 

The  main  body  of  the  duke's  infantry  was  near  at 
hand. 

The  rebels  heard  the  drums  .beating  the  charge; 
they  could  see  the  bayonets  gleaming  in  the  sunlight. 

Lacheneur,  who  had  remained  in  the  same  spot,  ut- 
terly ignoring  the  shot  that  whistled  around  him,  felt 
that  his  few  remaining  comrades  were  about  to  be  ex- 
terminated. 

In  that  supreme  moment  the  whole  past  was  revealed 
to  him  as  by  a  flash  of  lightning.  He  read  and  judged 
his  own  heart.  Hatred  had  led  him  to  crime.  He 
loathed  himself  for  the  humiliation  which  he  had  im- 
posed upon  his  daughter.  He  cursed  himself  for  the . 
falsehoods  by  which  he  had  deceived  these  brave  men, 
for  whose  death  he  would  be  accountable. 

Enough  blood  had  flowed ;  he  must  save  those  who 
remained. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    199 

"  Cease  firing,  my  friends,"  he  commanded ;  "  re- 
treat !  " 

They  obeyed — he  could  see  them  scatter  in  every 
direction. 

He  too  could  flee ;  was  he  not  mounted  upon  a  gal- 
lant steed,  which  would  bear  him  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  enemy  ? 

But  he  had  sworn  that  he  would  not  survive  defeat. 
Maddened  with  remorse,  despair,  sorrow,  and  impo- 
tent rage,  he  saw  no  refuge  save  in  death. 

He  had  only  to  wait  for  it ;  it  was  fast  approaching ; 
he  preferred  to  rush  to  meet  it.  Gathering  up  the 
reins,  he  dashed  the  rowels  in  his  steed  and,  alone, 
charged  upon  the  enemy. 

The  shock  was  rude,  the  ranks  opened,  there  was  a 
moment  of  confusion. 

But  Lacheneur's  horse,  its  chest  cut  open  by  the 
bayonets,  reared,  beat  the  air  with  his  hoofs,  then  fell 
backward,  burying  his  rider  beneath  him. 

And  the  soldiers  marched  on,  not  suspecting  that 
beneath  the  body  of  the  horse  the  brave  rider  was 
struggling  to  free  himself. 

It  was  half-past  one  in  the  morning — the  place  was 
deserted. 

Nothing  disturbed  the  silence  save  the  moans  of  a 
few  wounded  men,  who  called  upon  their  comrades  for 
succor. 

But  before  thinking  of  the  wounded,  M.  de  Sair- 
meuse  must  decide  upon  the  course  which  would  be 
most  likely  to  redound  to  his  advantage  and  to  his 
political  glory. 

Now  that  the  insurrection  had  been  suppressed,  it 
was  necessary  to  exaggerate  its  magnitude  as  much  as 
possible,  in  order  that  his  reward  should  be  in  pro- 
portion to  the  service  supposed  to  have  been  rendered. 


200         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

Some  fifteen  or  twenty  rebels  had  been  captured; 
but  that  was  not  a  sufficient  number  to  give  the  victory 
the  eclat  which  he  desired.  He  must  find  more  culprits 
to  drag  before  the  provost-marshal  or  before  a  military 
commission. 

He,  therefore,  divided  his  troops  into  several  detach- 
ments, and  sent  them  in  every  direction  with  orders  to 
explore  the  villages,  search  all  isolated  houses,  and  ar- 
rest all  suspected  persons. 

His  task  here  having  been  completed,  he  again 
recommended  the  most  implacable  severity,  and 
started  on  a  brisk  trot  for  Montaignac. 

He  was  delighted ;  certainly  he  blessed — as  had  M. 
de  Courtornieu — these  honest  and  artless  conspirators ; 
but  one  fear,  which  he  vainly  tried  to  dismiss,  impaired 
his  satisfaction. 

His  son,  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse,  was  he,  or  was 
he  not,  implicated  in  this  conspiracy? 

He  could  not,  he  would  not,  believe  it ;  and  yet  the 
recollection  of  Chupin's  assurance  troubled  him. 

On  the  other  hand,  what  could  have  become  of 
Martial?  The  servant  who  had  been  sent  to  warn 
him — had  he  met  him?  Was  the  marquis  returning? 
And  by  which  road  ?  Could  it  be  possible  that  he  had 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  peasants  ? 

The  duke's  relief  was  intense  when,  on  returning 
home,  after  a  conference  with  M.  de  Courtornieu,  he 
learned  that  Martial  had  arrived  about  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  before. 

"  The  marquis  went  at  once  to  his  own  room  on  dis- 
mounting from  his  horse,"  added  the  servant. 

"  Very  well,"  replied  the  duke.  "  I  will  seek  him 
there." 

Before  the  servants  he  said,  "  Very  well ;"  but  se- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    201 

cretly,  he  exclaimed :  "  Abominable  impertinence ! 
What !  I  am  on  horseback  at  the  head  of  my  troops, 
my  life  imperilled,  and  my  son  goes  quietly  to  bed 
without  even  assuring  himself  of  my  safety !  " 

He  reached  his  son's  room,  but  found  the  door 
closed  and  locked  on  the  inside.  He  rapped. 

"  Who  is  there?  "  demanded  Martial. 

"  It  is  I ;  open  the  door." 

Martial  drew  the  bolt ;  M.  de  Sairmeuse  entered,  but 
the  sight  that  met  his  gaze  made  him  tremble. 

Upon  the  table  was  a  basin  of  blood,  and  Martial, 
with  chest  bared,  was  bathing  a  large  wound  in  his 
right  breast. 

"  You  have  been  fighting !  "  exclaimed  the  duke,  in 
a  husky  voice. 

"  Yes." 

"  Ah  !  then  you  were,  indeed " 

"  I  was  where  ?  what  ?  " 

"  At  the  convocation  of  these  miserable  peasants 
who,  in  their  parricidal  folly,  have  dared  to  dream  of 
the  overthrow  of  the  best  of  princes  !  " 

Martial's  face  betrayed  successively  profound  sur- 
prise, and  a  more  violent  desire  to  laugh. 

"  I  think  you  must  be  jesting,  Monsieur,"  he  re- 
plied. 

The  young  man's  words  and  manner  reassured  the 
duke  a  little,  without  entirely  dissipating  his  sus- 
picions. 

"  Then  these  vile  rascals  attacked  you  ?  "  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Not  at  all.  I  have  been  simply  obliged  to  fight  a 
duel." 

"  With  whom  ?  Name  the  scoundrel  who  has  dared 
to  insult  you !  " 


202         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

A  faint  flush  tinged  Martial's  cheek ;  but  it  was  in  his 
usual  careless  tone  that  he  replied : 

"  Upon  my  word,  no ;  I  shall  not  give  his  name. 
You  would  trouble  him,  perhaps ;  and  I  really  owe  the 
fellow  a  debt  of  gratitude.  It  happened  upon  the  high- 
way ;  he  might  have  assassinated  me  without  ceremony, 
but  he  offered  me  open  combat.  Besides,  he  was 
wounded  far  more  severely  than  I." 

All  M.  de  Sairmeuse's  doubts  had  returned. 

"  And  why,  instead  of  summoning  a  physician,  are 
you  attempting  to  dress  this  wound  yourself?  " 

"  Because  it  is  a  mere  trifle,  and  because  I  wish  to 
keep  it  a  secret." 

The  duke  shook  his  head. 

"  All  this  is  scarcely  plausible,"  he  remarked,  "  es- 
pecially after  the  assurance  of  your  complicity,  which  I 
have  received." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he ;  "  and  from  whom  ?  From  your 
spy-in-chief,  no  doubt — that  rascal  Chupin.  It  sur- 
prises me  to  see  that  you  can  hesitate  for  a  moment  be- 
tween the  word  of  your  son  and  the  stories  of  such  a 
wretch." 

"  Do  not  speak  ill  of  Chupin,  Marquis ;  he  is  a  very 
useful  man.  Had  it  not  been  for  him,  we  should  have 
been  taken  unawares.  It  was  through  him  that  I 
learned  of  this  vast  conspiracy  organized  by  Lache- 
neur " 

"  What  !  is  it  Lacheneur " 

"  Who  is  at  the  head  of  the  movement  ?  yes,  Mar- 
quis. Ah  !  your  usual  discernment  has  failed  you  in 
this  instance.  What,  you  have  been  a  constant  visitor 
at  this  house,  and  you  have  suspected  nothing  ? 
And  you  contemplate  a  diplomatic  career  !  But  this  is 
not  all.  You  know  now  for  what  purpose  the  money 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    203 

which  you  so  lavishly  bestowed  upon  them  has  been 
employed.  They  have  used  it  to  purchase  guns,  pow- 
der, and  ammunition." 

The  duke  had  become  satisfied  of  the  injustice  of 
his  suspicions ;  but  he  was  now  endeavoring  to  irritate 
his  son. 

It  was  a  fruitless  effort.  Martial  knew  very  well  that 
he  had  been  duped,  but  he  did  not  think  of  resenting  it. 

"  If  Lacheneur  has  been  captured,"  he  thought ;  "  if 
he  should  be  condemned  to  death  and  if  I  should  save 
him,  Marie- Anne  would  refuse  me  nothing." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

Having  penetrated  the  mystery  that  enveloped  his 
son's  frequent  absence,  the  Baron  d'Escorval  had  con- 
cealed his  fears  and  his  chagrin  from  his  wife. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  had  a  secret 
from  the  faithful  and  courageous  companion  of  his 
existence. 

Without  warning  her,  he  went  to  beg  Abbe  Midon 
to  follow  him  to  the  Reche,  to  the  house  of  M.  Lache- 
neur. 

The  silence,  on  his  part,  explains  Mme.  d'Escorval's 
astonishment  when,  on  the  arrival  of  the  dinner-hour, 
neither  her  son  nor  her  husband  appeared. 

Maurice  was  sometimes  late;  but  the  baron,  like  all 
great  workers,  was  punctuality  itself.  What  extraor- 
dinary thing  could  have  happened  ? 

Her  surprise  became  uneasiness  when  she  learned 
that  her  husband  had  departed  in  company  with  Abbe 
Midon.  They  had  harnessed  the  horse  themselves,  and 
instead  of  driving  through  the  court-yard  as  usual, 


204         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

they  had  driven  through  the  stable-yard  into  a  lane 
leading  to  the  public  road. 

What  did  all  this  mean  ?  Why  these  strange  pre- 
cautions ? 

Mme.  d'Escorval  waited,  oppressed  by  vague  fore- 
bodings. 

The  servants  shared  her  anxiety.  The  baron  was  so 
equable  in  temper,  so  kind  and  just  to  his  inferiors,  that 
his  servants  adored  him,  and  would  have  gone  through 
a  fiery  furnace  for  him. 

So,  about  ten  o'clock,  they  hastened  to  lead  to  their 
mistress  a  peasant  who  was  returning  from  Sairmeuse. 

This  man,  who  was  slightly  intoxicated,  told  the 
strangest  and  most  incredible  stories. 

He  said  that  all  the  peasantry  for  ten  leagues  around 
were  under  arms,  and  that  the  Baron  d'Escorval  was 
the  leader  of  the  revolt. 

He  did  not  doubt  the  final  success  of  the  movement, 
declaring  that  Napoleon  II.,  Marie-Louise,  and  all  the 
marshals  of  the  Empire  were  concealed  in  Montaignac. 

Alas  !  it  must  be  confessed  that  Lacheneur  had  not 
hesitated  to  utter  the  grossest  falsehoods  in  his  anxiety 
to  gain  followers. 

Mme.  d'Escorval  could  not  be  deceived  by  these 
ridiculous  stories,  but  she  could  believe,  and  she  did 
believe  that  the  baron  was  the  prime  mover  in  this  in- 
surrection. 

And  this  belief,  which  would  have  carried  conster- 
nation to  the  hearts  of  so  many  women,  reassured  her. 

She  had  entire,  absolute,  and  unlimited  faith  in  her 
husband.  She  believed  him  superior  to  all  other  men 
— infallible,  in  short.  The  moment  he  said :  "  This  is 
so  !  "  she  believed  it  implicitly. 

Hence,  if  her  husband  had  organized  a  movement, 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    205 

that  movement  was  right.  If  he  had  attempted  it,  it 
was  because  he  expected  to  succeed.  Therefore,  it  was 
sure  to  succeed. 

Impatient,  however,  to  know  the  result,  she  sent  the 
gardener  to  Sairmeuse  with  orders  to  obtain  informa- 
tion without  awakening  suspicion,  if  possible,  and  to 
hasten  back  as  soon  as  he  could  learn  anything  of  a 
positive  nature. 

He  returned  in  about  two  hours,  pale,  frightened, 
and  in  tears. 

The  disaster  had  already  become  known,  and  had 
been  related  to  him  with  the  most  terrible  exaggera- 
tions. He  had  been  told  that  hundreds  of  men  had 
been  killed,  and  that  a  whole  army  was  scouring  the 
country,  massacring  defenceless  peasants  and  their 
families. 

While  he  was  telling  his  story,  Mme.  d'Escorval  felt 
that  she  was  going  mad. 

She  saw — yes,  positively,  she  saw  her  son  and  her 
husband,  dead — or  still  worse,  mortally  wounded  upon 
the  public  highway — they  were  lying  with  their  arms 
crossed  upon  their  breasts,  livid,  bloody,  their  eyes 
staring  wildly — they  were  begging  for  water — a  drop 
of  water. 

"  I  will  find  them  !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  frenzied  ac- 
cents. "  I  will  go  to  the  field  of  battle,  I  will  seek  for 
them  among  the  dead,  until  I  find  them.  Light  some 
torches,  my  friends,  and  come  with  me,  for  you  will 
aid  me,  will  you  not  ?  You  loved  them ;  they  were  so 
good  !  You  would  not  leave  their  dead  bodies  un- 
buried  !  oh  !  the  wretches  !  the  wretches  who  have 
killed  them  !  " 

The  servants  were  hastening  to  obey  when  the  furi- 
ous gallop  of  a  horse  and  the  sound  of  carriage-wheels 
were  heard  upon  the  drive. 


206         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  Here  they  are !  "  exclaimed  the  gardener ;  "  here 
they  are  !  " 

Mme.  d'Escorval,  followed  by  the  servants,  rushed 
to  the  door  just  in  time  to  see  a  cabriolet  enter  the 
court-yard,  and  the  horse,  panting,  exhausted,  and 
flecked  with  foam,  miss  his  footing,  and  fall. 

Abbe  Midon  and  Maurice  had  already  leaped  to  the 
ground  and  were  lifting  out  an  apparently  lifeless  body. 

Even  Marie-Anne's  great  energy  had  not  been  able 
to  resist  so  many  successive  shocks ;  the  last  trial  had 
overwhelmed  her.  Once  in  the  carriage,  all  immedi- 
ate danger  having  disappeared,  the  excitement  which 
had  sustained  her  fled.  She  became  unconscious,  and 
all  the  efforts  of  Maurice  and  of  the  priest  had  failed 
to  restore  her. 

But  Mme.  d'Escorval  did  not  recognize  Mile. 
Lacheneur  in  the  masculine  habiliments  in  which  she 
was  clothed. 

She  only  saw  that  it  was  not  her  husband  whom  they 
had  brought  with  them ;  and  a  convulsive  shudder 
shook  her  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Your  father,  Maurice !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  a  stifled 
voice ;  "  and  your  father  !  " 

The  effect  was  terrible.  Until  that  moment,  Mau- 
rice and  the  cure  had  comforted  themselves  with  the 
hope  that  M.  d'Escorval  would  reach  home  before 
them. 

Maurice  tottered,  and  almost  dropped  his  precious 
burden.  The  abbe  perceived  it,  and  at  a  sign  from  him, 
two  servants  gently  lifted  Marie-Anne,  and  bore 
her  to  the  house. 

Then  the  cure  approached  Mme.  d'Escorval. 

"  Monsieur  will  soon  be  here,  Madame,"  said  he,  at 
hazard  ;  "  he  fled  first " 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    207 

"  Baron  d'Escorval  could  not  have  fled,"  she  inter- 
rupted. "  A  general  does  not  desert  when  face  to  face 
with  the  enemy.  If  a  panic  seizes  his  soldiers,  he 
rushes  to  the  front,  and  either  leads  them  back  to  com- 
bat, or  takes  his  own  life." 

"  Mother !  "  faltered  Maurice ;  "  mother !  " 

"  Oh !  do  not  try  to  deceive  me.  My  husband  was 
the  organizer  of  this  conspiracy — his  confederates 
beaten  and  dispersed  must  have  proved  themselves 
cowards.  God  have  mercy  upon  me ;  my  husband  is 
dead!" 

In  spite  of  the  abbe's  quickness  of  perception,  he 
could  not  understand  such  assertions  on  the  part  of  the 
baroness  ;  he  thought  that  sorrow  and  terror  must  have 
destroyed  her  reason. 

"  Ah !  Madame,"  he  exclaimed,  "  the  baron  had 
nothing  to  do  with  this  movement ;  far  from  it " 

He  paused  ;  all  this  was  passing  in  the  court-yard,  in 
the  glare  of  the  torches  which  had  been  lighted  up  by 
the  servants.  Anyone  in  the  public  road  could  hear 
and  see  all.  He  realized  the  imprudence  of  which  they 
were  guilty. 

"  Come,  Madame,"  said  he,  leading  the  baroness 
toward  the  house ;  "  and  you,  also,  Maurice,  come  !  " 

It  was  with  the  silent  and  passive  submission  of 
great  misery  that  Mme.  d'Escorval  obeyed  the  cure. 

Her  body  alone  moved  in  mechanical  obedience ; 
her  mind  and  heart  were  flying  through  space  to  the 
man  who  was  her  all,  and  whose  mind  and  heart  were 
even  then,  doubtless,  calling  to  her  from  the  dread 
abyss  into  which  he  had  fallen. 

But  when  she  had  passed  the  threshold  of  the  draw- 
ing-room, she  trembled  and  dropped  the  priest's  arm, 
rudely  recalled  to  the  present  reality. 


208         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

She  recognized  Marie-Anne  in  the  lifeless  form  ex- 
tended upon  the  sofa. 

"  Mademoiselle  Lacheneur !  "  she  faltered,  "  here  in 
this  costume — dead !  " 

One  might  indeed  believe  the  poor  girl  dead,  to  see 
her  lying  there  rigid,  cold,  and  as  white  as  if  the  last 
drop  of  blood  had  been  drained  from  her  veins.  Her 
beautiful  face  had  the  immobility  of  marble ;  her  half- 
opened,  colorless  lips  disclosed  teeth  convulsively 
clinched,  and  a  large  dark-blue  circle  surrounded  her 
closed  eyelids. 

Her  long  black  hair,  which  she  had  rolled  up  closely 
to  slip  under  her  peasant's  hat,  had  become  unbound, 
and  flowed  down  in  rich  masses  over  her  shoulders  and 
trailed  upon  the  floor. 

"  She  is  only  in  a  state  of  syncope ;  there  is  no  dan- 
ger," declared  the  abbe,  after  he  had  examined  Marie- 
Anne.  "  It  will  not  be  long  before  she  regains  con- 
sciousness." 

And  then,  rapidly  but  clearly,  he  gave  the  necessary 
directions  to  the  servants,  who  were  astonished  at  their 
mistress. 

Mme.  d'Escorval  looked  on  with  eyes  dilated  with 
terror.  She  seemed  to  doubt  her  own  sanity,  and  in- 
cessantly passed  her  hand  across  her  forehead,  thickly 
beaded  with  cold  sweat. 

"  What  a  night !  "  she  murmured.    "  What  a  night !  " 

"  I  must  remind  you,  Madame,"  said  the  priest,  sym- 
pathizingly,  but  firmly,  "  that  reason  and  duty  alike 
forbid  you  thus  to  yield  to  despair!  Wife,  where  is 
your  energy?  Christian,  what  has  become  of  your 
confidence  in  a  just  and  beneficial  God  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I  have  courage,  Monsieur,"  faltered  the 
wretched  woman.  "  I  am  brave !  " 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    209 

The  abbe  led  her  to  a  large  arm-chair,  where  he 
forced  her  to  seat  herself,  and  in  a  gentler  tone,  he  re- 
sumed : 

"  Besides,  why  should  you  despair,  Madame  ?  Your 
son,  certainly,  is  with  you  in  safety.  Your  husband 
has  not  compromised  himself;  he  has  done  nothing 
which  I  myself  have  not  done." 

And  briefly,  but  with  rare  precision,  he  explained 
the  part  which  he  and  the  baron  had  played  during  this 
unfortunate  evening. 

But  this  recital,  instead  of  reassuring  the  baroness, 
seemed  to  increase  her  anxiety. 

"  I  understand  you,"  she  interrupted,  "  and  I  be- 
lieve you.  But  I  also  know  that  all  the  people  in  the 
country  round  about  are  convinced  that  my  husband 
commanded  the  insurrectionists.  They  believe  it,  and 
they  will  say  it." 

"And  what  of  that?" 

"  If  he  has  been  arrested,  as  you  give  me  to  under- 
stand, he  will  be  summoned  before  a  court-martial. 
Was  he  not  the  friend  of  the  Emperor  ?  That  is  a 
crime,  as  you  very  well  know.  He  will  be  convicted 
and  sentenced  to  death." 

"  No,  Madame,  no !  Am  I  not  here  ?  I  will  appear 
before  the  tribunal,  and  I  shall  say :  '  Here  I  am !  I 
have  seen  and  I  know  all.'  " 

"  But  they  will  arrest  you,  alas,  Monsieur,  because 
you  are  not  a  priest  according  to  the  hearts  of  these 
cruel  men.  They  will  throw  you  in  prison,  and  you 
will  meet  him  upon  the  scaffold." 

Maurice  had  been  listening,  pale  and  trembling. 

But  on  hearing  these  last  words,  he  sank  upon  his 
knees,  hiding  his  face  in  his  hands : 

"  Ah !  I  have  killed  my  father !  "  he  exclaimed. 


2io         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  Unhappy  child !  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

The  priest  motioned  him  to  be  silent ;  but  he  did  not 
see  him,  and  he  pursued : 

"  My  father  was  ignorant  even  .of  the  existence  of 
this  conspiracy  of  which  Monsieur  Lacheneur  was  the 
guiding  spirit;  but  I  knew  it — I  wished  him  to  suc- 
ceed, because  on  his  success  depended  the  happiness  of 
my  life.  And  then — wretch  that  I  was! — when  I 
wished  to  attract  to  our  ranks  some  timid  or  wavering 
accomplice,  I  used  the  loved  and  respected  name  of 
D'Escorval.  Ah,  I  was  mad !  I  was  mad !  " 

Then,  with  a  despairing  gesture,  he  added: 

"  And  yet,  even  now,  I  have  not  the  courage 
to  curse  my  folly !  Oh,  mother,  mother,  if  you 
knew " 

His  sobs  interrupted  him.  Just  then  a  faint  moan" 
was  heard. 

Marie- Anne  was  regaining  consciousness.  Already 
she  had  partially  risen  from  the  sofa,  and  sat  regarding 
this  terrible  scene  with  an  air  of  profound  wonder,  as 
if  she  did  not  understand  it  in  the  least. 

Slowly  and  gently  she  put  back  her  hair  from  her 
face,  and  opened  and  closed  her  eyes,  which  seemed 
dazzled  by  the  light  of  the  candles. 

She  endeavored  to  speak,  to  ask  some  question,  but 
Abbe  Midon  commanded  silence  by  a  gesture. 

Enlightened  by  the  words  of  Mme.  d'Escorval  and 
by  the  confession  of  Maurice,  the  abbe  understood  at 
once  the  extent  of  the  frightful  danger  that  menaced 
the  baron  and  his  son. 

How  was  this  danger  to  be  averted?  What  must 
be  done? 

He  had  no  time  for  explanation  or  reflection ;  with 
each  moment,  a  chance  of  salvation  fled.  He  must 
decide  and  act  without  delay. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    211 

The  abbe  was  a  brave  man.  He  darted  to  the  door, 
and  called  the  servants  who  were  standing  in  the  hall 
and  on  the  staircase. 

When  they  were  gathered  around  him : 

"  Listen  to  me,  intently,"  said  he,  in  that  quick  and 
imperious  voice  that  impresses  one  with  the  certainty 
of  approaching  peril,  "  and  remember  that  your  mas- 
ter's life  depends,  perhaps,  upon  your  discretion.  We 
can  rely  upon  you,  can  we  not  ?  " 

Every  hand  was  raised  as  if  to  call  upon  God  to  wit- 
ness their  fidelity. 

"  In  less  than  an  hour,"  continued  the  priest,  "  the 
soldiers  sent  in  pursuit  of  the  fugitives  will  be  here. 
Not  a  word  must  be  uttered  in  regard  to  what  has 
passed  this  evening.  Everyone  must  be  led  to  sup- 
pose that  I  went  away  with  the  baron  and  returned 
alone.  Not  one  of  you  must  have  seen  Mademoiselle 
Lacheneur.  We  are  going  to  fmd  a  place  of  conceal- 
ment for  her.  Remember,  my  friends,  if  there  is  the 
slightest  suspicion  of  her  presence  here,  all  is  lost.  If 
the  soldiers  question  you,  endeavor  to  convince  them 
that  Monsieur  Maurice  has  not  left  the  house  this 
evening." 

He  paused,  trying  to  think  if  he  had  forgotten  any 
precaution  that  human  prudence  could  suggest,  then 
added: 

"  One  word  more ;  to  see  you  standing  about  at  this 
hour  of  the  night  will  awaken  suspicion  at  once.  But 
this  is  what  I  desire.  We  will  plead  in  justification, 
the  alarm  that  you  feel  at  the  absence  of  the  baron,  and 
also  the  indisposition  of  madame — for  madame  is  go- 
ing to  retire — she  will  thus  escape  interrogation.  And 
you,  Maurice,  run  and  change  your  clothes ;  and,  above 
all,  wash  your  hands,  and  sprinkle  some  perfume  upon 
them." 


2ia         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

All  present  were  so  impressed  with  the  imminence 
of  the  danger,  that  they  were  more  than  willing  to 
obey  the  priest's  orders. 

Marie-Anne,  as  soon  as  she  could  be  moved,  was 
carried  to  a  tiny  room  under  the  roof.  Mme.  d'Escor- 
val  retired  to  her  own  apartment,  and  the  servants 
went  back  to  the  office. 

Maurice  and  the  abbe  remained  alone  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, silent  and  appalled  by  horrible  forebodings. 

The  unusually  calm  face  of  the  priest  betrayed  his 
terrible  anxiety.  He  now  felt  convinced  that  Baron 
d'Escorval  was  a  prisoner,  and  all  his  efforts  were  now 
directed  toward  removing  any  suspicion  of  complicity 
from  Maurice. 

"  This  was,"  he  reflected,  "  the  only  way  to  save  the 
father." 

A  violent  peal  of  the  bell  attached  to  the  gate  inter- 
rupted his  meditations. 

He  heard  the  footsteps  of  the  gardener  as  he  hast- 
ened to  open  it,  heard  the  gate  turn  upon  its  hinges, 
then  the  measured  tramp  of  soldiers  in  the  court-yard. 

A  loud  voice  commanded : 

"Halt!" 

The  priest  looked  at  Maurice  and  saw  that  he  was 
as  pale  as  death. 

"  Be  calm,"  he  entreated ;  "  do  not  be  alarmed.  Do 
not  lose  your  self-possession — and  do  not  forget  my 
instructions." 

"  Let  them  come,"  replied  Maurice.  "  I  am  pre- 
pared !  " 

The  drawing-room 'door  was  flung  violently  open, 
and  a  young  man,  wearing  the  uniform  of  a  captain  of 
grenadiers,  entered.  He  was  scarcely  twenty-five 
years  of  age,  tall,  fair-haired,  with  blue  eyes  and  little 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    213 

waxed  mustache.  His  whole  person  betokened  an  ex- 
cessive elegance  exaggerated  to  the  verge  of  the  ridic- 
ulous. His  face  ordinarily  must  have  indicated  ex- 
treme self-complacency ;  but  at  the  present  moment  it 
wore  a  really  ferocious  expression. 

Behind  him,  in  the  passage,  were  a  number  of  armed 
soldiers. 

He  cast  a  suspicious  glance  around  the  room,  then, 
in  a  harsh  voice : 

"  Who  is  the  master  of  this  house  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  The  Baron  d'Escorval,  my  father,  who  is  absent," 
replied  Maurice. 

"Where  is  he?" 

The  abbe,  who,  until  now,  had  remained  seated,  rose. 

"  On  hearing  of  the  unfortunate  outbreak  of  this 
evening,"  he  replied,  "  the  baron  and  myself  went  to 
these  peasants,  in  the  hope  of  inducing  them  to  relin- 
quish their  foolish  undertaking.  They  would  not  lis- 
ten to  us.  In  the  confusion  that  ensued,  I  became 
separated  from  the  baron ;  I  returned  here  very  anx- 
ious, and  am  now  awaiting  his  return." 

The  captain  twisted  his  mustache  with  a  sneering 
air. 

"  Not  a  bad  invention !  "  said  he.  "  Only  I  do  not 
believe  a  word  of  this  fiction." 

A  light  gleamed  in  the  eyes  of  the  priest,  his  lips 
trembled,  but  he  held  his  peace. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  rudely  demanded  the  officer. 

"  I  am  the  cure  of  Sairmeuse." 

"  Honest  men  ought  to  be  in  bed  at  this  hour.  And 
you  are  racing  about  the  country  after  rebellious  peas- 
ants. Really,  I  do  not  know  what  prevents  me  from 
ordering  your  arrest." 

That  which  did  prevent  him  was  the  priestly  robe,  all 


2i4        THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

powerful  under  the  Restoration.  With  Maurice  he 
was  more  at  ease. 

"  How  many  are  there  in  this  family  ?  " 

"  Three ;  my  father,  my  mother — ill  at  this  moment 
— and  myself." 

"  And  how  many  servants  ?  " 

"  Seven — four  men  and  three  women." 

"  You  have  neither  received  nor  concealed  anyone 
this  evening?  " 

"  No  one." 

"  It  will  be  necessary  to  prove  this,"  said  the  captain. 

And  turning  toward  the  door : 

"  Corporal  Bavois !  "  he  called. 

This  man  was  one  of  those  old  soldiers  who  had  fol-1 
lowed  the  Emperor  over  all  Europe.  Two  small,  fero- 
cious gray  eyes  lighted  his  tanned,  weather-beaten  face, 
and  an  immense  hooked  nose  surmounted  a  heavy, 
bristling  mustache. 

"  Bavois,"  commanded  the  officer,  "  you  will  take 
half  a  dozen  men  and  search  this  house  from  top  to  bot- 
tom. You  are  an  old  fox  that  knows  a  thing  or  two. 
If  there  is  any  hiding-place  here,  you  will  be  sure  to 
discover  it ;  if  anyone  is  concealed  here,  you  will  bring 
the  person  to  me.  Go,  and  make  haste !  " 

The  corporal  departed  on  his  mission ;  the  captain 
resumed  his  questions. 

"  And  now,"  said  he,  turning  to  Maurice,  "  what 
have  you  been  doing  this  evening?  " 

The  young  man  hesitated  for  an  instant ;  then,  with 
well-feigned  indifference,  replied : 

"  I  have  not  put  my  head  outside  the  door  this  even- 
ing." 

"  Hum !  that  must  be  proved.  Let  me  see  your 
hands." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    215 

The  soldier's  tone  was  so  offensive  that  Maurice  felt 
the  angry  blood  mount  to  his  forehead.  Fortunately, 
a  warning  glance  from  the  abbe  made  him  restrain  his 
wrath. 

He  offered  his  hands  to  the  inspection  of  the  captain, 
who  examined  them  carefully,  outside  and  in,  and  final- 
ly smelled  them. 

"  Ah !  these  hands  are  too  white  and  smell  too  sweet 
to  have  been  dabbling  in  powder." 

He  was  evidently  surprised  that  this  young  man 
should  have  had  so  little  courage  as  to  remain  in  the 
shelter  of  the  fireside  while  his  father  was  leading  the 
peasants  on  to  battle. 

"  Another  thing,"  said  he,  "  you  must  have  weapons 
here." 

"  Yes,  hunting  rifles." 

"Where  are  they?" 

"  In  a  small  room  on  the  ground-floor." 

"  Take  me  there." 

They  conducted  him  to  the  room,  and  on  finding 
that  none  of  the  double-barrelled  guns  had  been  used 
for  some  days,  he  seemed  considerably  annoyed. 

He  appeared  furious  when  the  corporal  came  and 
told  him  that  he  had  searched  everywhere,  but  had 
found  nothing  of  a  suspicious  character. 

"  Send  for  the  servants,"  was  his  next  order. 

But  all  the  servants  faithfully  repeated  the  lesson 
which  the  abbe  had  given  them. 

The  captain  saw  that  he  was  not  likely  to  discover 
the  mystery,  although  he  was  well  satisfied  that  one 
existed. 

Swearing  that  they  should  pay  dearly  for  it,  if  they 
were  deceiving  him,  he  again  called  Bavois. 

"  I  must  continue  my  search,"  said  he.     "  You,  with 


216         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

two  men,  will  remain  here,  and  render  a  strict  account 
of  all  that  you  see  and  hear.  If  Monsieur  d'Escorval 
returns,  bring  him  to  me  at  once ;  do  not  allow  him  to 
escape.  Keep  your  eyes  open,  and  good  luck  to 
you !  " 

He  added  a  few  words  in  a  low  voice,  then  left  the 
room  as  abruptly  as  he  had  entered  it. 

The  departing  footsteps  of  the  soldiers  were  soon 
lost  in  the  stillness  of  the  night,  and  then  the  corporal 
gave  vent  to  his  disgust  in  a  frightful  oath. 

"  Hein! "  said  he,  to  his  men,  "  you  have  heard  that 
cadet.  Listen,  watch,  arrest,  report.  So  he  takes  us 
for  spies !  Ah !  if  our  old  leader  knew  to  what  base 
uses  his  old  soldiers  were  degraded !  " 

The  two  men  responded  by  a  sullen  growl. 

"  As  for  you,"  pursued  the  old  trooper,  addressing 
Maurice  and  the  abbe,  "  I,  Bavois,  corporal  of  grena- 
diers, declare  in  my  name  and  in  that  of  my  two  men, 
that  you  are  as  free  as  birds,  and  that  we  shall  arrest 
no  one.  More  than  that,  if  we  can  aid  you  in  any  way, 
we  are  at  your  service.  The  little  fool  that  command- 
ed us  this  evening  thought  we  were  fighting.  Look 
at  my  gun ;  I  have  not  fired  a  shot  from  it ;  and  my 
comrades  fired  only  blank  cartridges." 

The  man  might  possibly  be  sincere,  but  it  was  scarce- 
ly probable. 

"  We  have  nothing  to  conceal,"  replied  the  cautious 
priest. 

The  old  corporal  gave  a  knowing  wink. 

"  Ah  !  you  distrust  me !  You  are  wrong ;  and  I  am 
going  to  prove  it.  Because,  you  see,  though  it  is  easy 
to  gull  that  fool  who  just  left  here,  it  is  not  so  easy  to 
deceive  Corporal  Bavois.  Very  well !  it  was  scarcely 
prudent  to  leave  in  the  court-yard  a  gun  that  certainly 
had  not  been  charged  for  firing  at  swallows." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    217 

The  cure  and  Maurice  exchanged  a  glance  of  con- 
sternation. Maurice  now  recollected,  for  the  first 
time,  that  when  he  sprang  from  the  carriage  to  lift  out 
Marie-Anne,  he  propped  his  loaded  gun  against  the 
wall.  It  had  escaped  the  notice  of  the  servants. 

"  Secondly,"  pursued  Bavois,  "  there  is  someone 
concealed  in  the  attic.  I  have  excellent  ears.  Third- 
ly, I  arranged  it  so  that  no  one  should  enter  the  sick 
lady's  room." 

Maurice  needed  no  further  proof.  He  extended  his 
hand  to  the  corporal,  and,  in  a  voice  trembling  with 
emotion,  he  said : 

"  You  are  a  brave  man !  " 

A  few  moments  later,  Maurice,  the  abbe,  and  Mme. 
d'Escorval  were  again  assembled  in  the  drawing-room, 
deliberating  upon  the  measures  which  must  be  taken, 
when  Marie-Anne  appeared. 

She  was  still  frightfully  pale ;  but  her  step  was  firm, 
her  manner  quiet  and  composed. 

"  I  must  leave  this  house,"  she  said  to  the  baroness. 
"  Had  I  been  conscious,  I  would  never  have  accepted 
hospitality  which  is  likely  to  bring  dire  misfortune  on 
your  family.  Alas !  your  acquaintance  with  me  has 
cost  you  too  many  tears  and  too  much  sorrow  already. 
Do  you  understand  now  why  I  wished  you  to  regard 
us  as  strangers?  A  presentiment  told  me  that  my 
family  would  be  fatal  to  yours !  " 

"  Poor  child !  "  exclaimed  Mme.  d'Escorval ;  "  where 
will  you  go  ?  " 

Marie-Anne  lifted  her  beautiful  eyes  to  the  heaven 
in  which  she  placed  her  trust. 

"  I  do  not  know,  Madame,"  she  replied ;  "  but  duty 
commands  me  to  go.  I  must  learn  what  has  become 
of  my  father  and  my  brother,  and  share  their  fate." 


2i8         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Maurice ;  "  still  this  thought  of 
death.  You,  who  no  longer " 

He  paused ;  a  secret  which  was  not  his  own  had  al- 
most escaped  his  lips.  But  visited  by  a  sudden  inspir- 
ation, he  threw  himself  at  his  mother's  feet. . 

"  Oh,  my  mother !  my  dearest  mother,  do  not  allow 
her  to  depart.  I  may  perish  in  my  attempt  to  save  my 
father.  She  will  be  your  daughter  then — she  whom  I 
have  loved  so  much.  You  will  encircle  her  with  your 
tender  and  protecting  love " 

Marie-Anne  remained. 

CHAPTER  XXV 

The  secret  which  approaching  death  had  wrestled 
from  Marie-Anne  in  the  fortification  at  the  Croix 
d'Arcy,  Mme..  d'Escorval  was  ignorant  of  when  she 
joined  her  entreaties  to  those  of  her  son  to  induce  the 
unfortunate  girl  to  remain. 

But  the  fact  occasioned  Maurice  scarcely  an  uneasi- 
ness. 

His  faith  in  his  mother  was  complete,  absolute ;  he 
was  sure  that  she  would  forgive  when  she  learned  the 
truth. 

Loving  and  chaste  wives  and  mothers  are  always 
most  indulgent  to  those  who  have  been  led  astray  by 
the  voice  of  passion. 

Such  noble  women  can,  with  impunity,  despise  and 
brave  the  prejudices  of  hypocrites. 

These  reflections  made  Maurice  feel  more  tranquil 
in  regard  to  Marie-Anne's  future,  and  he  now  thought 
only  of  his  father. 

Day  was  breaking ;  he  declared  that  he  would  assume 
some  disguise  and  go  to  Montaignac  at  once. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    219 

On  hearing  these  words,  Mme.  d'Escorval  turned 
and  hid  her  face  in  the  sofa-cushions  to  stifle  her  sobs. 

She  was  trembling  for  her  husband's  life,  and  now 
her  son  must  precipitate  himself  into  danger.  Perhaps 
before  the  sun  sank  to  rest,  she  would  have  neither  hus- 
band nor  son. 

And  yet  she  did  not  say  "  no."  She  felt  that  Maurice 
was  only  fulfilling  a  sacred  duty.  She  would  have 
loved  him  less  had  she  supposed  him  capable  of 
cowardly  hesitation.  She  would  have  dried  her  tears, 
if  necessary,  to  bid  him  "  go." 

Moreover,  what  was  not  preferable  to  the  agony  of 
suspense  which  they  had  been  enduring  for  hours  ? 

Maurice  had  reached  the  door  when  the  abbe 
stopped  him. 

"  You  must  go  to  Montaignac,"  said  he,  "  but  it 
would  be  folly  to  disguise  yourself.  You  would  cer- 
tainly be  recognized,  and  the  saying :  '  He  who  con- 
ceals himself  is  guilty,'  will  assuredly  be'  applied  to  you. 
You  must  go  openly,  with  head  erect,  and  you  must 
even  exaggerate  the  assurance  of  innocence.  Go 
straight  to  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  and  the  Marquis  de 
Courtornieu.  I  will  accompany  you ;  we  will  go  in  the 
carriage." 

Maurice  seemed  undecided. 

"  Obey  these  counsels,  my  son,"  said  Mme.  d'Escor- 
val ;  "  the  abbe  knows  much  better  than  we  do  what  is 
best." 

"  I  will  obey,  mother." 

The  cure  had  not  waited  for  this  assent  to  go  and  give 
an  order  for  harnessing  the  horses.  Mme.  d'Escorval 
left  the  room  to  write  a  few  lines  to  a  lady  friend,  whose 
husband  exerted  considerable  influence  in  Montaignac. 
Maurice  and  Marie- Anne  were  left  alone. 


22o         THE  HONOR   OF  THE  NAME 

It  was  the  first  moment  of  freedom  and  solitude 
which  they  had  found  since  Marie-Anne's  confession. 

They  stood  for  a  moment,  silent  and  motionless,  then 
Maurice  advanced,  and  clasping  her  in  his  arms,  he 
whispered : 

"  Marie- Anne,  my  darling,  my  beloved,  I  did  not 
know  that  one  could  love  more  fondly  than  I  loved  you 
yesterday;  but  now —  And  you — you  wish  for  death 
when  another  precious  life  depends  upon  yours." 

She  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  I  was  terrified,"  she  faltered.  "  The  future  of 
shame  that  I  saw — that  I  still — alas  !  see  before  me, 
appalled  me.  Now  I  am  resigned.  I  will  uncomplain- 
ingly endure  the  punishment  for  my  horrible  fault — I 
will  submit  to  the  insults  and  disgrace  that  await  me  !  " 

"  Insults,  to  you  !  Ah  !  woe  to  who  dares  !  But 
will  you  not  now  be  my  wife  in  the  sight  of  men,  as  you 
are  in  the  sight  of  God  ?  The  failure  of  your  father's 
scheme  sets  you  free  !  " 

"  No,  no,  Maurice,  I  am  not  free  !  Ah  !  it  is  you 
who  are  pitiless  !  I  see  only  too  well  that  you  curse  me, 
that  you  curse  the  day  when  we  met  for  the  first  time  ! 
Confess  it  !  Say  it  !  " 

Marie-Anne  lifted  her  streaming  eyes  to  his. 

"  Ah  !  I  should  lie  if  I  said  that.  My  cowardly 
heart  has  not  that  much  courage  !  I  suffer — I  am  dis- 
graced and  humiliated,  but " 

He  could  not  finish ;  he  drew  her  to  him,  and  their 
lips  and  their  tears  met  in  one  long  kiss. 

"  You  love  me,"  exclaimed  Maurice,  "  you  love  me 
in  spite  of  all  !  We  shall  succeed.  I  will  save  your 
father,  and  mine — I  will  save  your  brother !  " 

The  horses  were  neighing  and  stamping  in  the  court- 
yard. The  abbe  cried :  "  Come,  let  us  start."  Mme. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    221 

d'Escorval  entered  with  a  letter,  which  she  handed  to 
Maurice. 

She  clasped  in  a  long  and  convulsive  embrace  the 
son  whom  she  feared  she  should  never  see  again ;  then, 
summoning  all  her  courage,  she  pushed  him  away, 
uttering  only  the  single  word : 

"  Go  !  " 

He  departed ;  and  when  the  sound  of  the  carriage- 
wheels  had  died  away  in  the  distance,  Mme.  d'Escorval 
and  Marie-Anne  fell  upon  their  knees,  imploring  the 
mercy  and  aid  of  a  just  God. 

They  could  only  pray.  The  cure  and  Maurice  could 
act. 

Abbe  Midon's  plan,  which  he  explained  to  young 
d'Escorval,  as  the  horses  dashed  along,  was  as  simple 
as  the  situation  was  terrible. 

"  If,  by  confessing  your  own  guilt,  you  could  save 
your  father,  I  should  tell  you  to  deliver  yourself  up,  and 
to  confess  the  whole  truth.  Such  would  be  your  duty. 
But  this  sacrifice  would  be  not  only  useless,  but  dan- 
gerous. Your  confession  of  guilt  would  only  impli- 
cate your  father  still  more.  You  would  be  arrested, 
but  they  would  not  release  him,  and  you  would  both  be 
tried  and  convicted.  Let  us,  then,  allow — I  will  not 
say  justice,  for  that  would  be  blasphemy — but  these 
blood-thirsty  men,  who  call  themselves  judges,  to  pur- 
sue their  course,  and  attribute  all  that  you  have 
done  to  your  father.  When  the  trial  comes,  you  will 
prove  his  innocence,  and  produce  alibis  so  incontest- 
able, that  they  will  be  forced  to  acquit  him.  And  I 
understand  the  people  of  our  country  so  well,  that  I 
am  sure  not  one  of  them  will  reveal  our  stratagem." 

"  And  if  we  should  not  succeed,"  asked  Maurice, 
gloomily,  "  what  could  I  do  then  ?  " 


222         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

The  question  was  so  terrible  that  the  priest  dared  not 
respond  to  it.  He  and  Maurice  were  silent  during  the 
remainder  of  the  drive. 

They  reached  the  city  at  last,  and  Maurice  saw  how 
wise  the  abbe  had  been  in  preventing  him  from  assum- 
ing a  disguise. 

Armed  with  the  most  absolute  power,  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse  and  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  had  closed 
all  the  gates  of  Montaignac  save  one. 

Through  this  gate  all  who  desired  to  leave  or  enter 
the  city  were  obliged  to  pass,  and  two  officers  were  sta- 
tioned there  to  examine  all  comers  and  goers,  to  ques- 
tion them,  and  to  take  their  name  and  residence. 

At  the  name  "  D'Escorval,"  the  two  officers  evinced 
such  surprise  that  Maurice  noticed  it  at  once. 

"  Ah  !  you  know  what  has  become  of  my  father  !  " 
he  exclaimed. 

"  The  Baron  d'Escorval  is  a  prisoner,  Monsieur,"  re- 
plied one  of  the  officers. 

Although  Maurice  had  expected  this  response,  he 
turned  pale. 

"  Is  he  wounded  ?  "  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"  He  has  not  a  scratch.    But  enter,  sir,  and  pass  on." 

From  the  anxious  looks  of  these  officers  one  might 
have  supposed  that  they  feared  they  should  compro- 
mise themselves  by  conversing  with  the  son  of  so  great 
a  criminal. 

The  carriage  rolled  beneath  the  gate-way ;  but  it  had 
not  traversed  two  hundred  yards  of  the  Grand  Rue 
before  the  abbe  and  Maurice  had  remarked  several 
posters  and  notices  affixed  to  the  walls. 

"  We  must  see  what  this  is,"  they  said,  in  a  breath. 

They  stopped  near  one  of  these  notices,  before  which 
a  reader  had  already  stationed  himself ;  they  descended 
from  the  carriage,  and  read  the  following  order: 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    223 

"  ARTICLE  I. — The  inmates  of  the  house  in  which 
the  elder  Lacheneur  shall  be  found  will  be  handed  over 
to  a  military  commission  for  trial. 

"  ARTICLE  II. — Whoever  shall  deliver  the  body  of 
the  elder  Lacheneur,  dead  or  alive,  will  receive  a  re- 
ward of  twenty  thousand  francs." 

This  was  signed  Due  de  Sairmeuse. 

"  God  be  praised  !  "  exclaimed  Maurice,  "  Marie- 
Anne's  father  has  escaped  !  He  had  a  good  horse,  and 
in  two  hours " 

A  glance  and  a  nudge  of  the  elbow  from  the  abbe 
checked  him. 

The  abbe  drew  his  attention  to  the  man  standing 
near  them.  This  man  was  none  other  than  Chupin. 

The  old  scoundrel  had  also  recognized  them,  for  he 
took  off  his  hat  to  the  cure,  and  with  an  expression  of 
intense  covetousness  in  his  eyes,  he  said :  "  Twenty 
thousand  francs  !  what  a  sum  !  A  man  could  live  com- 
fortably all  his  life  on  the  interest  of  it." 

The  abbe  and  Maurice  shuddered  as  they  re-entered 
their  carriage. 

"  Lacheneur  is  lost  if  this  man  discovers  his  retreat," 
murmured  the  priest. 

"  Fortunately,  he  must  have  crossed  the  frontier  be- 
fore this,"  replied  Maurice.  "  A  hundred  to  one  he  is 
beyond  reach." 

"  And  if  you  should  be  mistaken.  What,  if  wounded 
and  faint  from  loss  of  blood,  Lacheneur  has  had  only 
strength  to  drag  himself  to  the  nearest  house  and  ask 
the  hospitality  of  its  inmates  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  even  in  that  case  he  is  safe ;  I  know  our  peas- 
ants. There  is  not  one  who  is  capable  of  selling  the 
life  of  a  proscribed  man." 

The  noble  enthusiasm  of  youth  drew  a  sad  smile 
from  the  priest. 


224         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

"  You  forget  the  dangers  to  be  incurred  by  those  who 
shelter  him.  Many  a  man  who  would  not  soil  his 
hands  with  the  price  of  blood  might  deliver  up  a  fugi- 
tive from  fear." 

They  were  passing  through  the  principal  street,  and 
they  were  struck  with  the  mournful  aspect  of  the  place 
— the  little  city  which  was  ordinarily  so  bustling  and 
gay. 

Fear  and  consternation  evidently  reigned  there.  The 
shops  were  closed ;  the  shutters  of  the  houses  had  not 
been  opened.  A  lugubrious  silence  pervaded  the  town. 
One  might  have  supposed  that  there  was  general 
mourning,  and  that  each  family  had  lost  one  of  its  mem- 
bers. 

The  manner  of  the  few  persons  seen  upon  the  thor- 
oughfare was  anxious  and  singular.  They  hurried  on, 
casting  suspicious  glances  on  every  side. 

Two  or  three  who  were  acquaintances  of  the  Baron 
d'Escorval  averted  their  heads,  on  seeing  his  carriage, 
to  avoid  the  necessity  of  bowing. 

The  abbe  and  Maurice  found  an  explanation  of  this 
evident  terror  on  reaching  the  hotel  to  which  they  had 
ordered  the  coachman  to  take  them. 

They  had  designated  the  Hotel  de  France,  where 
the  baron  always  stopped  when  he  visited  Montaignac, 
and  whose  proprietor  was  none  other  than  Laugeron, 
that  friend  of  Lacheneur,  who  had  been  the  first  to 
warn  him  of  the  arrival  of  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse. 

This  worthy  man,  on  hearing  what  guests  had  ar- 
rived, went  to  the  court-yard  to  meet  them,  with  his 
white  cap  in  his  hand. 

On  such  a  day  politeness  was  heroism.  Was  he  con- 
nected with  the  conspiracy  ?  It  has  always  been  sup- 
posed so. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    225 

He  invited  Maurice  and  the  abbe  to  take  some  re- 
freshments in  a  way  that  made  them  understand  he 
was  anxious  to  speak  with  them,  and  he  conducted 
them  to  a  retired  room  where  he  knew  they  would  be 
secure  from  observation. 

Thanks  to  one  of  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse's  valets  de 
chambre  who  frequented  the  house,  the  host  knew  as 
much  as  the  authorities ;  he  knew  even  more,  since  he 
had  also  received  information  from  the  rebels  who  had 
escaped  capture. 

From  him  the  abbe  and  Maurice  received  their  first 
positive  information. 

In  the  first  place,  nothing  had  been  heard  of  Lache- 
neur,  or  of  his  son  Jean ;  thus  far  they  had  escaped  the 
most  rigorous  pursuit. 

In  the  second  place,  there  were,  at  this  moment,  two 
hundred  prisoners  in  the  citadel,  and  among  them  the 
Baron  d'Escorval  and  Chanlouineau. 

And  lastly,  since  morning  there  had  been  at  least 
sixty  arrests  in  Montaignac. 

It  was  generally  supposed  that  these  arrests  were  the 
work  of  some  traitor,  and  all  the  inhabitants  were 
trembling  with  fear. 

But  M.  Laugeron  knew  the  real  cause.  It  had  been 
confided  to  him  under  pledge  of  secrecy  by  his  guest, 
the  duke's  valet  de  chambre. 

"  It  is  certainly  an  incredible  story,  gentlemen,"  he 
said ;  "  nevertheless,  it  is  true.  Two  officers  belonging 
to  the  Montaignac  militia,  on  returning  from  their  ex- 
pedition this  morning  at  daybreak,  on  passing  the 
Croix  d'Arcy,  found  a  man,  clad  in  the  uniform  of  the 
Emperor's  body-guard,  lying  dead  in  the  fosse." 

Maurice  shuddered. 
15 


226         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

The  unfortunate  man,  he  could  not  doubt,  was  the 
brave  old  soldier  who  had  spoken  to  Lacheneur. 

"  Naturally,"  pursued  M.  Laugeron,  "  the  two  offi- 
cers examined  the  body  of  the  dead  man.  Between  his 
lips  they  found  a  paper,  which  they  opened  and  read. 
It  was  a  list  of  all  the  conspirators  in  the  village.  The 
brave  man,  knowing  he  was  mortally  wounded,  en- 
deavored to  destroy  this  fatal  list;  but  the  agonies  of 
death  prevented  him  from  swallowing  it — 

But  the  abbe  and  Maurice  had  not  time  to  listen  to 
the  commentaries  with  which  the  hotel  proprietor  ac- 
companied his  recital. 

They  despatched  a  messenger  to  Mme.  d'Escorval 
and  to  Marie-Anne,  in  order  to  reassure  them,  and, 
without  losing  a  moment,  and  fully  determined  to  brave 
all,  they  went  to  the  house  occupied  by  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse. 

A  crowd  had  gathered  about  the  door.  At  least  a 
hundred  persons  were  standing  there ;  men  with  anx- 
ious faces,  women  in  tears,  soliciting,  imploring  an 
audience. 

They  were  the  friends  and  relatives  of  the  unfortu- 
nate men  who  had  been  arrested. 

Two  footmen,  in  gorgeous  livery  and  pompous  in 
bearing,  had  all  they  could  do  to  keep  back  the  strug- 
gling throng. 

The  abbe,  hoping  that  his  priestly  dress  would  win 
him  a  hearing,  approached  and  gave  his  name.  But  he 
was  repulsed  like  the  others. 

"  Monsieur  le  Due  is  busy,  and  can  receive  no  one," 
said  the  servant.  "  Monsieur  le  Due  is  preparing  his 
report  for  His  Majesty." 

And  in  support  of  this  assertion,  he  pointed  to  the 
horses,  standing  saddled  in  the  court-yard,  and  the 
couriers  who  were  to  bear  the  despatches. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    227 

The  priest  sadly  rejoined  his  companions. 

"  We  must  wait  !  "  said  he. 

Intentionally  or  not,  the  servants  were  deceiving 
these  poor  people.  The  duke,  just  then,  was  not  troub- 
ling himself  about  despatches.  A  violent  altercation 
was  going  on  between  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  and 
himself. 

Each  of  these  noble  personages  aspired  to  the  lead- 
ing role — the  one  which  would  be  most  generously  re- 
warded, undoubtedly.  It  was  a  conflict  of  ambitions 
and  of  wills. 

It  had  begun  by  the  exchange  of  a  few  recrimina- 
tions, and  it  quickly  reached  stinging  words,  bitter  al- 
lusions, and  at  last,  even  threats. 

The  marquis  declared  it  necessary  to  inflict  the  most 
frightful — he  said  the  most  salutary  punishment  upon 
the  offender;  the  duke,  on  the  contrary,  was  inclined 
to  be  indulgent. 

The  marquis  declared  that  since  Lacheneur,  the 
prime  mover,  and  his  son,  had  both  eluded  pursuit,  it 
was  an  urgent  necessity  to  arrest  Marie- Anne. 

The  other  declared  that  the  arrest  and  imprisonment 
of  this  young  girl  would  be  impolitic,  that  such  a  course 
would  render  the  authorities  odious,  and  the  rebels 
more  zealous. 

As  each  was  firmly  wedded  to  his  own  opinion,  the 
discussion  was  heated,  but  they  failed  to  convince  each 
other. 

"  These  rebels  must  be  put  down  with  a  strong 
hand  !  "  urged  M.  de  Courtornieu. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  exasperate  the  populace,"  replied 
the  duke. 

"  Bah  !  what  does  public  sentiment  matter  ?  " 

"  It  matters  a  great  deal  when  you  cannot  depend 


228         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

upon  your  soldiers.  Do  you  know  what  happened  last 
night?  There  was  powder  enough  burned  to  win  a 
battle ;  there  were  only  fifteen  peasants  wounded.  Our 
men  fired  in  the  air.  You  forget  that  the  Montaignac 
militia  is  composed,  for  the  most  part,  at  least  of  men 
who  formerly  fought  under  Bonaparte,  and  who  are 
burning  to  turn  their  weapons  against  us." 

But  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  dared  to  tell  the 
real  cause  of  his  obstinacy. 

Mile.  Blanche  had  been  at  Montaignac  that  morning. 
She  had  confided  her  anxiety  and  her  sufferings  to  her 
father;  and  she  made  him  swear  that  he  would  profit 
by  this  opportunity  to  rid  her  of  Marie-Anne. 

On  his  side,  the  duke,  persuaded  that  Marie-Anne 
was  his  son's  mistress,  wished,  at  any  cost,  to  prevent 
her  appearance  before  the  tribunal.  At  last  the  mar- 
quis yielded. 

The  duke  had  said  to  him :  "  Very  well  !  let  us  end 
this  dispute,"  at  the  same  time  glancing  so  meaningly 
at  a  pair  of  pistols  that  the  worthy  marquis  felt  a  dis- 
agreeable chilliness  creep  up  his  spine. 

They  then  went  together  to  examine  the  prisoners, 
preceded  by  a  detachment  of  soldiery  who  drove  back 
the  crowd,  which  gathered-again  to  await  the  duke's  re- 
turn. So  all  day  Maurice  watched  the  aerial  telegraph 
established  upon  the  citadel,  and  whose  black  arms 
were  moving  incessantly. 

"  What  orders  are  travelling  through  space  ?  "  he 
said  to  the  abbe;  "  is  it  life  or  is  it  death  ?  " 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    229 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

"  Above  all,  make  haste  !  "  Maurice  had  said  to  the 
messenger  charged  with  bearing  a  letter  to  the  baro- 
ness. 

Nevertheless,  the  man  did  not  reach  Escorval  until 
night-fall. 

Beset  by  a  thousand  fears,  he  had  taken  the  un- 
frequented roads  and  had  made  long  circuits  to  avoid 
all  the  people  he  saw  approaching  in  the  distance. 

Mme.  d'Escorval  tore  the  letter  rather  than  took  it 
from  his  hands.  She  opened  it,  read  it  aloud  to  Marie- 
Anne,  and  merely  said: 

"  Let  us  go — at  once." 

But  this  was  easier  said  than  done. 

They  kept  but  three  horses  at  Escorval.  One  was 
nearly  dead  from  its  terrible  journey  of  the  previous 
night ;  the  other  two  were  in  Montaignac. 

What  were  the  ladies  to  do  ?  To  trust  to  the  kind- 
ness of  their  neighbors  was  the  only  resource  open  to 
them. 

But  these  neighbors  having  heard  of  the  baron's  ar- 
rest, firmly  refused  to  lend  their  horses.  They  believed 
they  would  gravely  compromise  themselves  by  render- 
ing any  service  to  the  wife  of  a  man  upon  whom  the 
burden  of  the  most  terrible  of  accusations  was  resting. 

Mme.  d'Escorval  and  Marie-Anne  were  talking  of 
pursuing  their  journey  on  foot,  when  Corporal  Bavois, 
enraged  at  such  cowardice,  swore  by  the  sacred  name 
of  thunder  that  this  should  not  be. 

"  One  moment  !  "  said  he.  "  I  will  arrange  the  mat- 
ter." 

He  went  away,  but  reappeared  about  a  quarter  of  an 


23o         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME  • 

hour  afterward,  leading  an  old  plough-horse  by  the 
mane.  This  clumsy  and  heavy  steed  he  harnessed  into 
the  cabriolet  as  best  he  could. 

But  even  this  did  not  satisfy  the  old  trooper's  com- 
plaisance. 

His  duties  at  the  chateau  were  over,  as  M.  d'Escor- 
val  had  been  arrested,  and  nothing  remained  for  Cor- 
poral Bavois  but  to  rejoin  his  regiment. 

He  declared  that  he  would  not  allow  these  ladies  to 
travel  at  night,  and  unattended,  on  the  road  where  they 
might  be  exposed  to  many  disagreeable  encounters, 
and  that  he,  in  company  with  two  grenadiers,  would 
escort  them  to  their  journey's  end. 

"  And  it  will  go  hard  with  soldier  or  civilian  who 
ventures  to  molest  them,  will  it  not,  comrades  ?  "  he 
exclaimed. 

As  usual,  the  two  men  assented  with  an  oath. 

So,  as  they  pursued  their  journey,.  Mme.  d'Escorval 
and  Marie-Anne  saw  the  three  men  preceding  or  fol- 
lowing the  carriage,  or  oftener  walking  beside  it. 

Not  until  they  reached  the  gates  of  Montaignac  did 
the  old  soldier  forsake  his  protegees,  and  then,  not 
without  bidding  them  a  respectful  farewell,  in  the  name 
of  his  companions  as  well  as  himself ;  not  without  tell- 
ing them,  if  they  had  need  of  him,  to  call  upon  Bavois, 
corporal  of  grenadiers,  company  first,  stationed  at  the 
citadel. 

The  clocks  were  striking  ten  when  M.  d'Escorval 
and  Marie-Anne  alighted  at  the  Hotel  de  France. 

They  found  Maurice  in  despair,  and  even  the  abbe 
disheartened.  Since  Maurice  had  written  to  them, 
events  had  progressed  with  fearful  rapidity. 

They  knew  now  the  orders  which  had  been  forward- 
ed by  signals  from  the  citadel.  These  orders  had  been 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    231 

printed  and  affixed  to  the  walls.  The  signals  had 
said: 

"  Montaignac  must  be  regarded  as  in  a  state  of  siege. 
The  military  authorities  have  been  granted  discretion- 
ary power.  A  military  commission  will  exercise  juris- 
diction instead  of,  and  in  place  of,  the  courts.  Let 
peaceable  citizens  take  courage;  let  the  evil-disposed 
tremble  !  As  for  the  rabble,  the  sword  of  the  law  is 
about  to  strike  !  " 

Only  six  lines  in  all — but  each  word  was  a  menace. 

That  which  filled  the  abbe's  heart  with  dismay  was 
the  substitution  of  a  military  commission  for  a  court- 
martial. 

This  upset  all  his  plans,  made  all  his  precautions  use- 
less, and  destroyed  his  hopes  of  saving  his  friend. 

A  court-martial  was,  of  course,  hasty  and  often  un- 
just in  its  decisions ;  but  still,  it  observed  some  of  the 
forms  of  procedure  practised  in  judicial  tribunals.  It 
still  preserved  something  of  the  solemnity  of  legal  jus- 
tice, which  desires  to  be  enlightened  before  it  con- 
demns. 

A  military  commission  would  infallibly  neglect  all 
legal  forms;  and  summarily  condemn  and  punish  the 
accused  parties,  as  in  time  of  war  a  spy  is  tried  and 
punished. 

"  What  !  "  exclaimed  Maurice,  "  they  dare  to  con- 
demn without  investigating,  without  listening  to  testi- 
mony, without  allowing  the  accused  time  to  prepare 
any  defence  ?  " 

The  abbe  was  silent.  This  exceeded  his  most  sinister 
apprehensions.  Now,  he  believed  anything  possible. 

Maurice  spoke  of  an  investigation.  It  had  com- 
menced that  day,  and  it  was  still  going  on  by  the  light 
of  the  jailer's  lantern. 

That  is  to  say,  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  and  the  Mar- 


232        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

quis  de  Courtornieu  were  passing  the  prisoners  in  re- 
view. 

They  numbered  three  hundred,  and  the  duke  and  his 
companion  had  decided  to  summon  before  the  com- 
mission thirty  of  the  most  dangerous  conspirators. 

How  were  they  to  select  them  ?  By  what  method 
could  they  discover  the  extent  of  each  prisoner's  guilt  ? 
It  would  have  been  difficult  for  them  to  explain. 

They  went  from  one  to  another,  asking  any  question 
that  entered  their  minds,  and  after  the  terrified  man 
replied,  according  as  they  thought  his  countenance 
good  or  bad,  they  said  to  the  jailer  who  acompanied 
them :  "  Keep  this  one  until  another  time,"  or,  "  This 
one  for  to-morrow." 

By  daylight,  they  had  thirty  names  upon  their  list: 
and  the  names  of  the  Baron  d'Escorval  and  Chanloui- 
neau  led  all  the  rest. 

Although  the  unhappy  party  at  the  Hotel  de  France 
could  not  suspect  this  fact,  they  suffered  an  agony  of 
fear  and  dread  through  the  long  night  which  seemed 
to  them  eternal. 

As  soon  as  day  broke,  they  heard  the  beating  of  the 
reveille  at  the  citadel ;  the  hour  when  they  might  com- 
mence their  efforts  anew  had  come. 

The  abbe  announced  that  he  was  going  alone  to  the 
duke's  house,  and  that  he  would  find  a  way  to  force  an 
entrance. 

He  had  bathed  his  red  and  swollen  eyes  in  fresh 
water,  and  was  prepared  to  start  on  his  expedition, 
when  someone  rapped  cautiously  at  the  door  of  the 
chamber. 

Maurice  cried :  "  Come  in,"  and  M.  Laugeron  in- 
stantly entered  the  room. 

His  face  announced  some  dreadful  misfortune ;  and 
the  worthy  man  was  really  terrified. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    233 

He  had  just  learned  that  the  military  commission 
had  been  organized. 

In  contempt  of  all  human  laws  and  the  commonest 
rules  of  justice,  the  presidency  of  this  tribunal  of  ven- 
geance and  of  hatred  had  been  bestowed  upon  the  Due 
de  Sairmeuse. 

And  he  had  accepted  it — he  who  was  at  the  same 
time  to  play  the  part  of  participant,  witness,  and  judge. 

The  other  members  of  the  commission  were  military 
men. 

"  And  when  does  the  commission  enter  upon  its 
functions  ?  "  inquired  the  abbe. 

"  To-day,"  replied  the  host,  hesitatingly ;  "  this 
morning — in  an  hour — perhaps  sooner  !  " 

The  abbe  understood  what  M.  Laugeron  meant,  but 
dared  not  say :  "  The  commission  is  assembling,  make 
haste." 

"  Come  !  "  he  said  to  Maurice,  "  I  wish  to  be  present 
when  your  father  is  examined." 

Ah  !  what  would  not  the  baroness  have  given  to 
follow  the  priest  and  her  son  ?  But  she  could  not ;  she 
understood  this,  and  submitted. 

They  set  out,  and  as  they  stepped  into  the  street  they 
saw  a  soldier  a  little  way  from  them,  who  made  a  friend- 
ly gesture. 

They  recognized  Corporal  Bavois,  and  paused. 

But  he,  passing  them  with  an  air  of  the  utmost  in- 
difference, and  apparently  without  observing  them, 
hastily  dropped  these  words : 

"  I  have  seen  Chanlouineau.  Be  of  good  cheer ;  he 
promises  to  save  Monsieur  d'Escorval  ! " 


234        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

In  the  citadel  of  Montaignac,  within  the  second  line 
of  fortifications,  stands  an  old  building  known  as  the 
chapel. 

Originally  consecrated  to  worship,  the  structure  had, 
at  the  time  of  which  we  write,  fallen  into  disuse.  It 
was  so  damp  that  it  would  not  even  serve  as  an  arsenal 
for  an  artillery  regiment,  for  the  guns  rusted  there  more 
quickly  than  in  the  open  air.  A  black  mould  covered 
the  walls  to  a  height  of  six  or  seven  feet. 

This  was  the  place  selected  by  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse 
and  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  for  the  assembling  of 
the  military  commission. 

On  first  entering  it,  Maurice  and  the  abbe  felt  a  cold 
chill  strike  to  their  very  hearts;  and  an  indefinable 
anxiety  paralyzed  all  their  faculties. 

But  the  commission  had  not  yet  commenced  its 
seance;  and  they  had  time  to  look  about  them. 

The  arrangements  which  had  been  made  in  trans- 
forming this  gloomy  hall  into  a  tribunal,  attested  the 
precipitancy  of  the  judges  and  their  determination  to 
finish  their  work  promptly  and  mercilessly. 

The  arrangements  denoted  an  absence  of  all  form ; 
and  one  could  divine  at  once  the  frightful  certainty  of 
the  result. 

Three  large  tables  taken  from  the  mess-room,  and 
covered  with  horse-blankets  instead  of  tapestry,  stood 
upon  the  platform.  Some  unpainted  wooden  chairs 
awaited  the  judges ;  but  in  the  centre  glittered  the  pres- 
ident's chair,  a  superbly  carved  and  gilded  fauteuil,  sent 
by  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    235 

Several  wooden  benches  had  been  provided  for  the 
prisoners. 

Ropes  stretched  from  one  wall  to  the  other  divided 
the  chapel  into  two  parts.  It  was  a  precaution  against 
the  public. 

A  superfluous  precaution,  alas  ! 

The  abbe  and  Maurice  had  expected  to  find  the  crowd 
too  great  for  the  hall,  large  as  it  was,  and  they  found 
the  chapel  almost  unoccupied. 

There  were  not  twenty  persons  in  the  building. 
Standing  back  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall  were  perhaps 
a  dozen  men,  pale  and  gloomy,  a  sullen  fire  smoulder- 
ing in  their  eyes,  their  teeth  tightly  clinched.  They  were 
army  officers  retired  on  half  pay.  Three  men,  attired 
in  black,  were  conversing  in  low  tones  near  the  door. 
In  a  corner  stood  several  country-women  with  their 
aprons  over  their  faces.  They  were  weeping  bitterly, 
and  their  sobs  alone  broke  the  silence.  They  were  the 
mothers,  wives,  or  daughters  of  the  accused  men. 

Nine  o'clock  sounded.  The  rolling  of  the  drum 
made  the  panes  of  the  only  window  tremble.  A  loud 
voice  outside  shouted,  "  Present  arms ! "  The  mili- 
tary commission  entered,  followed  by  the  Marquis  de 
Courtornieu  and  several  civil  functionaries. 

The  duke  was  in  full  uniform,  his  face  a  little  more 
crimson,  and  his  air  a  trifle  more  haughty  than  usual. 

"  The  session  is  open !  "  pronounced  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse,  the  president. 

Then,  in  a  rough  voice,  he  added : 

"  Bring  in  the  culprits." 

He  had  not  even  the  grace  to  say  "  the  accused." 

They  came  in,  one  by  one,  to  the  number  of  twenty, 
and  took  their  places  on  the  benches  at  the  foot  of  the 
platform. 


236         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

Chanlouineau  held  his  head  proudly  erect,  and 
looked  composedly  about  him. 

Baron  d'Escorval  was  calm  and  grave;  but  not 
more  so  than  when,  in  days  gone  by,  he  had  been  called 
upon  to  express  his  opinion  in  the  councils  of  the  Em- 
pire. 

Both  saw  Maurice,  who  was  so  overcome  that  he  had 
to  lean  upon  the  abbe  for  support.  But  while  the  baron 
greeted  his  son  with  a  simple  bend  of  the  head,  Chan- 
louineau made  a  gesture  that  clearly  signified : 

"  Have  confidence  in  me — fear  nothing." 

The  attitude  of  the  other  prisoners  betrayed  surprise 
rather  than  fear.  Perhaps  they  were  unconscious  of 
the  peril  they  had  braved,  and  the  extent  of  the  danger 
that  now  threatened  them. 

When  the  prisoners  had  taken  their  places,  the  chief 
counsel  for  the  prosecution  rose. 

His  presentation  of  the  case  was  characterized  by  in- 
tense violence,  but  lasted  only  five  minutes.  He  briefly 
narrated  the  facts,  exalted  the  merits  of  the  govern- 
ment, of  the  Restoration,  and  concluded  by  a  demand 
that  sentence  of  death  should  be  pronounced  upon  the 
culprits. 

When  he  ceased  speaking,  the  duke,  addressing  the 
first  prisoner  upon  the  bench,  said,  rudely : 

"  Stand  up." 

The  prisoner  rose. 

"  Your  name  and  age  ?  " 

"  Eugene  Michel  Chanlouineau,  aged  twenty-nine, 
farmer  by  occupation." 

"  An  owner  of  national  lands,  probably  ?  " 

"  The  owner  of  lands  which,  having  been  paid  for 
with  good  money  and  made  fertile  by  labor,  are  right- 
fully mine." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    237 

The  duke  did  not  wish  to  waste  time  on  discussion. 

"You  have  taken  part  in  this  rebellion?"  he  pur- 
sued. 

"  Yes." 

"  You  are  right  in  avowing  it,  for  witnesses  will  be 
introduced  who  will  prove  this  fact  conclusively." 

Five  grenadiers  entered ;  they  were  the  men  whom 
Chanlouineau  had  held  at  bay  while  Maurice,  the  abbe, 
and  Marie-Anne  were  entering  the  carriage. 

These  soldiers  declared  upon  oath  that  they  recog- 
nized the  accused  ;  and  one  of  them  even  went  so  far  as 
to  pronounce  a  glowing  eulogium  upon  him,  declar- 
ing him  to  be  a  solid  fellow,  of  remarkable  courage. 

Chanlouineau's  eyes  during  this  deposition  betrayed 
an  agony  of  anxiety.  Would  the  soldiers  allude  to 
this  circumstance  of  the  carriage  ?  No ;  they  did  not 
allude  to  it. 

"  That  is  sufficient,"  interrupted  the  president. 

Then  turning  to  Chanlouineau : 

"  What  were  your  motives  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  We  hoped  to  free  ourselves  from  a  government 
imposed  upon  us  by  foreigners ;  to  free  ourselves  from 
the  insolence  of  the  nobility,  and  to  retain  the  lands 
that  were  justly  ours." 

"  Enough !  You  were  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  re- 
volt?" 

"  One  of  the  leaders — yes." 

"  Who  were  the  others  ?  " 

A  faint  smile  flitted  over  the  lips  of  the  young 
farmer,  as  he  replied : 

"  The  others  were  Monsieur  Lacheneur,  his  son 
Jean,  and  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse." 

The  duke  bounded  from  his  gilded  arm-chair. 

"  Wretch !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  rascal !  vile  scoun- 
drel!" 


238         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

He  caught  up  a  heavy  inkstand  that  stood  upon  the 
table  before  him :  and  one  would  have  supposed  that 
he  was  about  to  hurl  it  at  the  prisoner's  head. 

Chanlouineau  stood  perfectly  unmoved  in  the  midst 
of  the  assembly,  which  was  excited  to  the  highest  pitch 
by  his  startling  declaration. 

"  You  questioned  me,"  he  resumed,  "  and  I  replied. 
You  may  gag  me  if  my  responses  do  not  please  you. 
If  there  were  witnesses  for  me  as  there  are  against  me, 
I  could  prove  the  truth  of  my  words.  As  it  is,  all  the 
prisoners  here  will  tell  you  that  I  am  speaking  the 
truth.  Is  it  not  so,  you  others  ?  " 

With  the  exception  of  Baron  d'Escorval,  there  was 
not  one  prisoner  who  was  capable  of  understanding 
the  real  bearing  of  these  audacious  allegations ;  but 
all,  nevertheless,  nodded  their  assent. 

"  The  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  was  so  truly  our  lead- 
er," exclaimed  the  daring  peasant,  "  that  he  was 
wounded  by  a  sabre-thrust  while  fighting  by  my  side." 

The  face  of  the  duke  was  more  purple  than  that  of  a 
man  struck  with  apoplexy;  and  his  fury  almost  de- 
prived him  of  the  power  of  speech. 

"  You  lie,  scoundrel  !  you  lie  !  "  he  gasped. 

"  Send  for  the  marquis,"  said  Chanlouineau,  tran- 
quilly, "  and  see  whether  or  not  he  is  wounded." 

A  refusal  on  the  part  of  the  duke  could  not  fail  to 
arouse  suspicion.  But  what  could  he  do?  Martial 
had  concealed  his  wound  the  day  before;  it  was  now 
impossible  to  confess  that  he  had  been  wounded. 

Fortunately  for  the  duke,  one  of  the  judges  relieved 
him  of  his  embarrassment. 

"  I  hope,  Monsieur,  that  you  will  not  give  this  arro- 
gant rebel  the  satisfaction  he  desires.  The  commis- 
sion opposes  his  demand." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    239 

Chanlouineau  laughed  loudly. 

"  Very  naturally,"  he  exclaimed.  "  To-morrow  my 
head  will  be  off,  and  you  think  nothing  will  then  re- 
main to  prove  what  I  say.  I  have  another  proof,  fort- 
unately— material  and  indestructible  proof — which  it 
is  beyond  your  power  to  destroy,  and  which  will  speak 
when  my  body  is  six  feet  under  ground." 

"  What  is  the  proof  ?  "  demanded  another  judge, 
upon  whom  the  duke  looked  askance. 

The  prisoner  shook  his  head. 

"  I  will  give  it  to  you  when  you  offer  me  my  life  in 
exchange  for  it,"  he  replied.  "  It  is  now  in  the  hands  of 
a  trusty  person,  who  knows  its  value.  It  will  go  to  the 
King  if  necessary.  We  would  like  to  understand  the 
part  which  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  has  played  in 
this  affair — whether  he  was  truly  with  us,  or  whether 
he  was  only  an  instigating  agent." 

A  tribunal  regardful  of  the  immutable  rules  of  jus- 
tice, or  even  of  its  own  honor,  would,  by  virtue  of  its 
discretionary  powers,  have  instantly  demanded  the 
presence  of  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse. 

But  the  military  commission  considered  such  a 
course  quite  beneath  its  dignity. 

These  men  arrayed  in  gorgeous  uniforms  were  not 
judges  charged  with  the  vindication  of  a  cruel  law,  but 
still  a  law — they  were  the  instruments,  commissioned 
by  the  conquerors,  to  strike  the  vanquished  in  the  name 
of  that  savage  code  which  may  be  summed  up  in  two 
words :  "  vae  victis." 

The  president,  the  noble  Due  de  Sairmeuse,  would 
not  have  consented  to  summon. Martial  on  any  consid- 
eration. Nor  did  his  associate  judges  wish  him  to 
do  so. 

Had  Chanlouineau  foreseen  this  ?  Probably.  Yet, 
why  had  he  ventured  so  hazardous  a  blow? 


24o        THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

The  tribunal,  after  a  short  deliberation,  decided  that 
it  would  not  admit  this  testimony  which  had  so  excited 
the  audience,  and  stupefied  Maurice  and  Abbe  Midon. 

The  examination  was  continued,  therefore,  with  in- 
creased bitterness. 

"  Instead  of  designating  imaginary  leaders,"  re- 
sumed the  duke,  "  you  would  do  well  to  name  the  feal 
instigator  of  this  revolt — not  Lacheneur,  but  an  indi- 
vidual seated  upon  the  other  end  of  the  bench,  the 
elder  D'Escorval " 

"  Monsieur  le  Baron  d'Escorval  was  entirely  igno- 
rant of  the  conspiracy,  I  swear  it  by  all  that  I  hold 
most  sacred " 

"  Hold  your  tongue !  "  interrupted  the  counsel  for 
the  prosecution.  "  Instead  of  wearying  the  patience 
of  the  commission  by  such  ridiculous  stories,  try  to 
merit  its  indulgence." 

Chanlouineau's  glance  and  gesture  expressed  such 
disdain  that  the  man  who  interrupted  him  was  abashed. 

"  I  wish  no  indulgence,"  he  said.  "  I  have  played, 
I  have  lost;  here  is  my  head.  But  if  you  were  not 
more  cruel  than  wild  beasts  you  would  take  pity  on  the 
poor  wretches  who  surround  me.  I  see  at  least  ten 
among  them  who  were  not  our  accomplices,  and  who 
certainly  did  not  take  up  arms.  Even  the  others  did 
not  know  what  they  were  doing.  No,  they  did  not  !  " 

Having  spoken,  he  resumed  his  seat,  proud,  indiffer- 
ent, and  apparently  oblivious  to  the  murmur  which  ran 
through  the  audience,  the  soldiers  of  the  guard  and 
even  to  the  platform,  at  the  sound  of  his  vibrant  voice. 

The  despair  of  the  poor  peasant  women  had  been 
reawakened,  and  their  sobs  and  moans  filled  the  im- 
mense hall. 

The  retired  officers  had  grown  eve'n  mqre  pale  and 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    241 

gloomy;  and  tears  streamed  down  the  wrinkled 
cheeks  of  several. 

"  That  one  is  a  man !  "  they  were  thinking. 

The  abbe  leaned  over  and  whispered  in  the  ear  of 
Maurice : 

"  Evidently  Chanlouineau  has  some  plan.  He  in- 
tends to  save  your  father.  How,  I  cannot  under- 
stand." 

The  judges  were  conversing  in  low  tones  with  con- 
siderable animation. 

A  difficulty  had  presented  itself. 

The  prisoners,  ignorant  of  the  charges  which  would 
be  brought  against  them,  and  not  expecting  instant 
trial,  had  not  thought  of  procuring  a  defender. 

And  this  circumstance,  bitter  mockery!  frightened 
this  iniquitous  tribunal,  which  did  not  fear  to  trample 
beneath  its  feet  the  most  sacred  rules  of  justice. 

The  judges  had  decided ;  their  verdict  was,  as  it  were, 
rendered  in  advance,  and  yet  they  wished  to  hear  a 
voice  raised  in  defence  of  those  who  were  already 
doomed. 

It  chanced  that  three  lawyers,  retained  by  the  friends 
of  several  of  the  prisoners,  were  in  the  hall. 

They  were  the  three  men  that  Maurice,  on  his  en- 
trance, had  noticed  conversing  near  the  door  of  the 
chapel. 

The  duke  was  informed  of  this  fact.  He  turned  to 
them,  and  motioned  them  to  approach ;  then,  pointing 
to  Chanlouineau : 

"  Will  you  undertake  this  culprit's  defence  ?  "  he  de- 
manded. 

For  a  moment  the  lawyers  made  no  response.  This 
monstrous  seance  had  aroused  a  storm  of  indignation 
16 


242         THE  HONOR  OF   THE   NAME 

and  disgust  within  their  breasts,  and  they  looked  ques- 
tioningly  at  each  other. 

"  We  are  all  disposed  to  undertake  the  prisoner's  de- 
fence," at  last  replied  the  eldest  of  the  three ;  "  but  we 
see  him  for  the  first  time ;  we  are  ignorant  of  his 
grounds  of  defence.  We  must  ask  a  delay ;  it  is  indis- 
pensable, in  order  to  confer  with  him." 

"  The  court  can  grant  you  no  delay,"  interrupted  M. 
de  Sairmeuse ;  "  will  you  accept  the  defence,  yes  or 
no?" 

The  advocate  hesitated,  not  that  he  was  afraid,  for  he 
was  a  brave  man :  but  he  was  endeavoring  to  find  some 
argument  strong  enough  to  trouble  the  conscience  of 
these  judges. 

"  I  will  speak  in  his  behalf,"  said  the  advocate,  at 
last,  "  but  not  without  first  protesting  with  all  my 
strength  against  these  unheard-of  modes  of  procedure." 

"  Oh  !  spare  us  your  homilies,  and  be  brief." 

After  Chanlouineau's  examination,  it  was  difficult  to 
improvise  there,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  a  plea  in 
his  behalf.  Still,  his  courageous  advocate,  in  his  in- 
dignation, presented  a  score  of  arguments  which  would 
have  made  any  other  tribunal  reflect. 

But  all  the  while  he  was  speaking  the  Due  de  Sair- 
meuse fidgeted  in  his  gilded  arm-chair  with  every  sign 
of  angry  impatience. 

"  The  plea  was  very  long,"  he  remarked,  when  the 
lawyer  had  concluded,  "  terribly  long.  We  shall  never 
get  through  with  this  business  if  each  prisoner  takes  up 
as  much  time!  " 

He  turned  to  his  colleagues  as  if  to  consult  them, 
but  suddenly  changing  his  mind  he  proposed  to  the 
prosecuting  counsel  that  he  should  unite  all  the  cases, 
try  all  the  culprits  in  a  body,  with  the  exception  of  the 
elder  D'Escorval. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    243 

"  This  will  shorten  our  task,  for,  in  case  we  adopt 
this  course,  there  will  be  but  two  judgments  to  be  pro- 
nounced," he  said.  "  This  will  not,  of  course,  prevent 
each  individual  from  defending  himself." 

The  lawyers  protested  against  this.  A  judgment  in 
a  lump,  like  that  suggested  by  the  duke,  would  destroy 
all  hope  of  saving  a  single  one  of  these  unfortunate  men 
from  the  guillotine. 

"  How  can  we  defend  them,"  the  lawyers  pleaded, 
"  when  we  know  nothing  of  the  situation  of  each  of  the 
prisoners?  we  do  not  even  know  their  names.  We 
shall  be  obliged  to  designate  them  by  the  cut  of  their 
coats  and  by  the  color  of  their  hair." 

They  implored  the  tribunal  to  grant  them  a  week  for 
preparation,  four  days,  even  twenty-four  hours.  Fu- 
tile efforts  !  The  president's  proposition  was  adopted. 

Consequently,  each  prisoner  was  called  to  the  desk 
according  to  the  place  which  he  occupied  upon  the 
benches.  Each  man  gave  his  name,  his  age,  his  abode, 
and  his  profession,  and  received  an  order  to  return  to 
his  place. 

Six  or  seven  prisoners  were  actually  granted  time 
to  say  that  they  were  absolutely  ignorant  of  the  con- 
spiracy, and  that  they  had  been  arrested  while  convers- 
ing quietly  upon  the  public  highway.  They  begged 
to  be  allowed  to  furnish  proof  of  the  truth  of  their  as- 
sertions ;  they  invoked  the  testimony  of  the  soldiers 
who  had  arrested  them. 

M.  d'Escorval,  whose  case  had  been  separated  from 
the  others,  was  not  summoned  to  the  desk.  He  would 
be  interrogated  last. 

"  Now  the  counsel  for  the  defence  will  be  heard," 
said  the  duke ;  "  but  make  haste ;  lose  no  time !  It  is 
already  twelve  o'clock." 


244         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

Then  began  a  shameful,  revolting,  and  unheard-of 
scene.  The  duke  interrupted  the  lawyers  every  other 
moment,  bidding  them  be  silent,  questioning  them,  or 
jeering  at  them. 

"  It  seems  incredible,"  said  he,  "  that  anyone  can 
think  of  defending  such  wretches !  " 

Or  again : 

"  Silence !  You  should  blush  with  shame  for  hav- 
ing constituted  yourself  the  defender  of  such  rascals !  " 

But  the  lawyers  persevered  even  while  they  realized 
the  utter  uselessness  of  their  efforts.  But  what  could 
they  do  under  such  circumstances?  The  defence  of 
these  twenty-nine  prisoners  lasted  only  one  hour  and  a 
half. 

Before  the  last  word  was  fairly  uttered,  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  in  a  tone  which 
betrayed  his  delight,  said : 

"  Prisoner  Escorval,  stand  up." 

Thus  called  upon,  the  baron  rose,  calm  and  dignified. 
Terrible  as  his  sufferings  must  have  been,  there  was  no 
trace  of  it  upon  his  noble  face. 

He  had  even  repressed  the  smile  of  disdain  which  the 
duke's  paltry  affection  in  not  giving  him  the  title  which 
belonged  to  him,  brought  to  his  lips. 

But  Chanlouineau  sprang  up  at  the  same  time,  trem- 
bling with  indignation,  his  face  all  aglow  with  anger. 

"  Remain  seated,"  ordered  the  duke,  "  or  you  shall 
be  removed  from  the  court-room." 

Chanlouineau,  nevertheless,  declared  that  he  would 
speak ;  that  he  had  some  remarks  to  add  to  the  plea 
made  by  the  defending  counsel. 

Upon  a  sign  from  the  duke,  two  gendarmes  ap- 
proached and  placed  their  hands  upon  his  shoulders. 
He  allowed  them  to  force  him  back  into  his  seat, 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    245 

though  he  could  easily  have  crushed  them  with  one 
pressure  of  his  brawny  arm. 

An  observer  would  have  supposed  that  he  was  furi- 
ous ;  secretly,  he  was  delighted.  The  aim  he  had  had 
in  view  was  now  attained.  In  the  glance  he  cast  upon 
the  abbe,  the  latter  could  read: 

"  Whatever  happens,  watch  over  Maurice ;  restrain 
him.  Do  not  allow  him  to  defeat  my  plans  by  any 
outbreak." 

This  caution  was  not  unnecessary.  Maurice  was 
terribly  agitated ;  he  could  not  see,  he  felt  that  he  was 
suffocating,  that  he  was  losing  his  reason. 

"  Where  is  the  self-control  you  promised  me  ?  "  mur- 
mured the  priest. 

But  no  one  observed  the  young  man's  condition. 
The  attention  was  rapt,  breathless.  So  profound 
was  the  silence  that  the  measured  tread  of  the  sentinels 
without  could  be  distinctly  heard. 

Each  person  present  felt  that  the  decisive  moment 
for  which  the  tribunal  had  reserved  all  its  attention  and 
efforts  had  come. 

To  convict  and  condemn  the  poor  peasants,  of  whom 
no  one  would  think  twice,  was  a  mere  trifle.  But  to 
bring  low  an  illustrious  man  who  had  been  the  coun- 
sellor and  faithful  friend  of  the  Emperor !  What  glory, 
and  what  an  opportunity  for  the  ambitious ! 

The  instinct  of  the  audience  spoke  the  truth.  If  the 
tribunal  had  acted  informally  in  the  case  of  the  obscure 
conspirators,  it  had  carefully  prepared  its  suit  against 
the  baron. 

Thanks  to  the  activity  of  the  Marquis  de  Courtor- 
nieu,  the  prosecution  had  found  seven  charges  against 
the  baron,  the  least  grave  of  which  was  punishable  by 
death. 


246         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  Which  of  you,"  demanded  M.  de  Sairmeuse,  "  will 
consent  to  defend  this  great  culprit  ?  " 

"  I !  "  exclaimed  three  advocates,  in  a  breath. 

"  Take  care,"  said  the  duke,  with  a  malicious  smile ; 
"  the  task  is  not  light." 

"  Not  light !  "  It  would  have  been  better  to  say 
dangerous.  It  would  have  been  better  to  say  that  the 
defender  risked  his  career,  his  peace,  and  his  liberty ; 
very  probably,  his  life. 

"  Our  profession  has  its  exigencies,"  nobly  replied 
the  oldest  of  the  advocates. 

And  the  three  courageously  took  their  places  beside 
the  baron,  thus  avenging  the  honor  of  their  robe  which 
had  just  been  miserably  sullied,  in  a  city  where,  among 
more  than  a  hundred  thousand  souls,  two  pure  and  in- 
nocent victims  of  a  furious  reaction  had  not — oh, 
shame ! — been  able  to  find  a  defender. 

"  Prisoner,"  resumed  M.  de  Sairmeuse,  "  state  your 
name  and  profession." 

"  Louis  Guillaume,  Baron  d'Escorval,  Commander 
of  the  Order  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  formerly  Coun- 
cillor of  State  under  the  Empire." 

"  So  you  avow  these  shameful  services  ?  You  con- 
fess  » 

"  Pardon,  Monsieur ;  I  am  proud  of  having  had  the 
honor  of  serving  my  country,  and  of  being  useful  to 
her  in  proportion  to  my  ability " 

With  a  furious  gesture  the  duke  interrupted  him. 

"  That  is  excellent !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  These  gen- 
tlemen, the  commissioners,  will  appreciate  that.  It 
was,  undoubtedly,  in  the  hope  of  regaining  your  former 
position  that  you  entered  into  a  conspiracy  against  a 
magnanimous  prince  with  these  vile  wretches !  " 

"  These  peasants  are  not  vile  wretches,  but  misguid- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    247 

ed  men,  Monsieur.  Moreover,  you  know — yes,  you 
know  as  well  as  I  do  myself — that  I  have  had  no  hand 
in  this  conspiracy." 

"  You  were  arrested  in  the  ranks  of  the  conspirators 
with  weapons  in  your  hands !  " 

"  I  was  unarmed,  Monsieur,  as  you  are  well  aware ; 
and  if  I  was  among  the  peasantry,  it  was  only  because 
I  hoped  to  induce  them  to  relinquish  their  senseless  en- 
terprise." 

"You  lie!" 

The  baron  paled  beneath  the  insult,  but  he  made  no 
reply. 

There  was,  however,  one  man  in  the  assemblage 
who  could  no  longer  endure  this  horrible  and  abomi- 
nable injustice,  and  this  man  was  Abbe  Midon,  who, 
only  a  moment  before,  had  advised  Maurice  to  be  calm. 

He  brusquely  quitted  his  place,  and  advanced  to  the 
foot  of  the  platform. 

"  The  Baron  d'Escorval  speaks  the  truth,"  he  cried, 
in  a  ringing  voice ;  "  the  three  hundred  prisoners  in  the 
citadel  will  swear  to  it ;  these  prisoners  here  would  say 
the  same  if  they  stood  upon  the  guillotine ;  and  I,  who 
accompanied  him,  who  walked  beside  him,  I,  a  priest, 
swear  before  the  God  who  will  judge  all  men,  Monsieur 
de  Sairmeuse,  I  swear  that  all  which  it  was  in  human 
power  to  do  to  arrest  this  movement  we  have  done !  " 

The  duke  listened  with  an  ironical  smile. 

"  They  did  not  deceive  me,  then,  when  they  told  me 
that  this  army  of  rebels  had  a  chaplain !  Ah !  Mon- 
sieur, you  should  sink  to  the  earth  with  shame.  You, 
a  priest,  mingle  with  such  scoundrels  as  these — with 
these  enemies  of  our  good  King  and  of  our  holy  relig- 
ion !  Do  not  deny  this !  Your  haggard  features, 
your  swollen  eyes,  your  disordered  attire  soiled  with 


248         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

dust  and  mud  betray  your  guilt.  Must  I,  a  soldier, 
remind  you  of  what  is  due  your  sacred  calling?  Hold 
your  peace,  Monsieur,  and  depart !  " 

The  counsel  for  the  prisoner  sprang  up. 

"  We  demand,"  they  cried,  "  that  this  witness  be 
heard.  He  must  be  heard !  Military  commissions  are 
not  above  the  laws  that  regulate  ordinary  tribunals." 

"  If  I  do  not  speak  the  truth,"  resumed  the  abbe,  "  I 
am  a  perjured  witness,  worse  yet,  an  accomplice.  It 
is  your  duty,  in  that  case,  to  have  me  arrested." 

The  duke's  face  expressed  a  hypocritical  compas- 
sion. 

"  No,  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  not  arrest 
you.  I  would  avert  the  scandal  which  you  are  trying 
to  cause.  We  will  show  your  priestly  garb  the  respect 
the  wearer  does  not  deserve.  Again,  and  for  the  last 
time,  retire,  or  I  shall  be  obliged  to  employ  force." 

What  would  further  resistance  avail?  Nothing. 
The  abbe,  with  a  face  whiter  than  the  plastered  walls, 
and  eyes  filled  with  tears,  came  back  to  his  place  beside 
Maurice. 

The  lawyers,  meanwhile,  were  uttering  their  protests 
with  increasing  energy.  But  the  duke,  by  a  prolonged 
hammering  upon  the  table  with  his  fists,  at  last  suc- 
ceeded in  reducing  them  to  silence. 

"  Ah !  you  wish  testimony !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Very 
well,  you  shall  have  it.  Soldiers,  bring  in  the  first  wit- 
ness." 

A  movement  among  the  guards,  and  almost  imme- 
diately Chupin  appeared.  He  advanced  deliberately, 
but  his  countenance  betrayed  him.  A  close  observer 
could  have  read  his  anxiety  and  his  terror  in  his  eyes, 
which  wandered  restlessly  about  the  room. 

And  there  was  a  very  appreciable  terror  in  his  voice 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    249 

when,  with  hand  uplifted,  he  swore  to  tell  the  truth,  the 
whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth. 

"  What  do  you  know  regarding  the  prisoner  D'Es- 
corval  ?  "  demanded  the  duke. 

"  I  know  that  he  took  part  in  the  rebellion  on  the 
night  of  the  fourth." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  this  ?  " 

"  I  can  furnish  proofs." 

"  Submit  them  to  the  consideration  of  the  commis- 
sion." 

The  old  scoundrel  began  to  gain  more  confidence. 

"  First,"  he  replied,  "  it  was  to  the  house  of  Mon- 
sieur d'Escorval  that  Lacheneur  hastened  after  he  had, 
much  against  his  will,  restored  to  Monsieur  le  Due  the 
chateau  of  Monsieur  le  Due's  ancestors.  Monsieur 
Lacheneur  met  Chanlouineau  there,  and  from  that  day 
dates  the  plot  of  this  insurrection." 

"  I  was  Lacheneur's  friend,"  said  the  baron ;  "  it  was 
perfectly  natural  that  he  should  come  to  me  for  conso- 
lation after  a  great  misfortune." 

M.  de  Sairmeuse  turned  to  his  colleague. 

"  You  hear  that !  "  said  he.  "  This  D'Escorval  calls 
the  restitution  of  a  deposit  a  great  misfortune!  Go 
on,  witness." 

"  In  the  second  place,"  resumed  Chupin,  "  the  ac- 
cused was  always  prowling  about  Lacheneur's  house." 

"  That  is  false,"  interrupted  the  baron.  "  I  never 
visited  the  house  but  once,  and  on  that  occasion  I  im- 
plored him  to  renounce." 

He  paused,  comprehending  only  when  it  was  too 
late,  the  terrible  significance  of  his  words.  But  having 
begun,  he  would  not  retract,  and  he  added : 

"  I  implored  him  to  renounce  this  project  of  an  in- 
surrection." 


25o         THE  HONOR   OF  THE  NAME 

"  Ah !  then  you  knew  his  wicked  intentions?  " 

"  I  suspected  them." 

"  Not  to  reveal  a  conspiracy  makes  one  an  accom- 
plice, and  means  the  guillotine." 

Baron  d'Escorval  had  just  signed  his  death-warrant. 

Strange  caprice  of  destiny !  He  was  innocent,  and 
yet  he  was  the  only  one  among  the  accused  whom  a 
regular  tribunal  could  have  legally  condemned. 

Maurice  and  the  abbe  were  prostrated  with  grief; 
but  Chanlouineau,  who  turned  toward  them,  had  still 
upon  his  lips  a  smile  of  confidence. 

How  could  he  hope  when  all  hope  seemed  absolute- 
ly lost  ? 

But  the  commissioners  made  no  attempt  to  conceal 
their  satisfaction.  M.  de  Sairmeuse,  especially, 
evinced  an  indecent  joy. 

"  Ah,  well !  Messieurs  ?  "  he  said  to  the  lawyers,  in  a 
sneering  tone. 

The  counsel  for  the  defence  poorly  dissimulated 
their  discouragement ;  but  they  nevertheless  endeav- 
ored to  question  the  validity  of  such  a  declaration  on 
the  part  of  their  client.  He  had  said  that  he  suspected 
the  conspiracy,  not  that  he  knew  it.  It  was  quite  a  dif- 
ferent thing. 

"  Say  at  once  that  you  wish  still  more  overwhelming 
evidence,"  interrupted  the  duke.  "  Very  well !  You 
shall  have  it.  Continue  your  deposition,  witness." 

"  The  accused,"  continued  Chupin,  "  was  present  at 
all  the  conferences  held  at  Lacheneur's  house.  The 
proof  of  this  is  as  clear  as  daylight.  Being  obliged  to 
cross  the  Giselle  to  reach  the  Reche,  and  fearing  the 
ferryman  would  notice  his  frequent  nocturnal  voyages, 
the  baron  had  an  old  boat  repaired  which  he  had  not 
used  for  years." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    251 

"  Ah !  that  is  a  remarkable  circumstance,  prisoner ; 
do  you  recollect  having  your  boat  repaired  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  not  for  the  purpose  which  this  man  men- 
tions." 

"  For  what  purpose,  then  ?  " 

The  baron  made  no  response.  Was  it  not  in  com- 
pliance with  the  request  of  Maurice  that  the  boat  had 
been  put  in  order  ? 

"  And  finally,"  continued  Chupin,  "  when  Lache- 
neur  set  fire  to  his  house  to  give  the  signal  for  the  in- 
surrection, the  prisoner  was  with  him." 

"  That,"  exclaimed  the  duke,  "  is  conclusive  evi- 
dence." 

"  I  was,  indeed,  at  the  Reche,"  interrupted  the 
baron ;  "  but  it  was,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  with 
the  firm  determination  of  preventing  this  outbreak." 

M.  de  Sairmeuse  gave  utterance  to  a  little  disdainful 
laugh. 

"  Ah,  gentlemen !  "  he  said,  addressing  the  commis- 
sioners, "  can  you  not  see  that  the  prisoner's  courage 
does  not  equal  his  depravity?  But  I  will  confound 
him.  What  did  you  do,  prisoner,  when  the  insurgents 
left  the  Reche?  " 

"  I  returned  to  my  home  with  all  possible  haste,  took 
a  horse  and  repaired  to  the  Croix  d'Arcy." 

"  Then  you  knew  that  this  was  the  spot  appointed 
for  the  general  rendezvous  ?  " 

"  Lacheneur  had  just  informed  me." 

"  If  I  believed  your  story,  I  should  tell  you  that  it 
was  your  duty  to  have  hastened  to  Montaignac  and  in- 
formed the  authorities.  But  what  you  say  is  untrue. 
You  did  not  leave  Lacheneur,  you  accompanied  him." 

"  No,  Monsieur,  no !  " 

"  And  what  if  I  could  prove  this  fact  beyond  all 
question  ? " 


252         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  Impossible,  Monsieur,  since  such  was  not  the 
case." 

By  the  malicious  satisfaction  that  lighted  M.  de  Sair- 
meuse's  face,  the  abbe  knew  that  this  wicked  judge  had 
some  terrible  weapon  in  his  hands,  and  that  Baron 
d'Escorval  was  about  to  be  overwhelmed  by  one  of 
those  fatal  coincidences  which  explain,  although  they 
do  not  justify,  judicial  errors. 

At  a  sign  from  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution,  the 
Marquis  de  Courtornieu  left  his  seat  and  came  forward 
to  the  platform. 

"  I  must  request  you,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  said 
the  duke,  "  to  have  the  goodness  to  read  to  the  com- 
mission the  deposition  written  and  signed  by  your 
daughter." 

This  scene  must  have  been  prepared  in  advance  for 
the  audience.  M.  de  Courtornieu  cleaned  his  glasses, 
drew  from  his  pocket  a  paper  which  he  unfolded,  and 
amid  a  death-like  silence,  he  read : 

"  I,  Blanche  de  Courtornieu,  do  declare  upon  oath 
that,  on  the  evening  of  the  fourth  of  February,  between 
ten  and  eleven  o'clock,  on  the  public  road  leading  from 
Sairmeuse  to  Montaignac,  I  was  assailed  by  a  crowd  of 
armed  brigands.  While  they  were  deliberating  as  to 
whether  they  should  take  possession  of  my  person  and 
pillage  my  carriage,  I  overheard  one  of  these  men  say 
to  another,  speaking  of  me :  '  She  must  get  out,  must 
she  not,  Monsieur  d'Escorval  ? '  I  believe  that  the 
brigand  who  uttered  these  words  was  a  peasant  named 
Chanlouineau,  but  I  dare  not  assert  it  on  oath." 

A  terrible  cry,  followed  by  inarticulate  moans,  inter- 
rupted the  marquis. 

The  suffering  which  Maurice  endured  was  too  great 
for  his  strength  and  his  reason.  He  was  about  to 
spring  forward  and  cry: 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    253 

"  It  was  I  who  addressed  those  words  to  Chanloui- 
neau.  I  alone  am  guilty ;  my  father  is  innocent !  " 

But  fortunately  the  abbe  had  the  presence  of  mind  to 
hold  him  back,  and  place  his  hand  over  the  poor 
youth's  lips. 

But  the  priest  would  not  have  been  able  to  restrain 
Maurice  without  the  aid  of  the  retired  army  officers, 
who  were  standing  beside  him. 

Divining  all,  perhaps,  they  surrounded  Maurice, 
took  him  up,  and  carried  him  from  the  room  by  main 
force,  in  spite  of  his  violent  resistance. 

All  this  occupied  scarcely  ten  seconds. 

"  What  is  the  cause  of  this  disturbance  ?  "  inquired 
the  duke,  looking  angrily  over  the  audience. 

No  one  uttered  a  word. 

"  At  the  least  noise  the  hall  shall  be  cleared,"  added 
M.  de  Sairmeuse.  "  And  you,  prisoner,  what  have 
you  to  say  in  self-justification,  after  this  crushing  ac- 
cusation by  Mademoiselle  de  Courtornieu  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  murmured  the  baron. 

"  So  you  confess  your  guilt  ?  " 

Once  outside,  the  abbe  confided  Maurice  to  the  care 
of  three  officers,  who  promised  to  go  with  him,  to 
carry  him  by  main  force,  if  need  be,  to  the  hotel,  and 
keep  him  there. 

Relieved  on  this  score,  the  priest  re-entered  the  hall 
just  in  time  to  see  the  baron  seat  himself  without  mak- 
ing any  response,  thus  indicating  that  he  had  relin- 
quished all  intention  of  defending  his  life. 

Really,  what  could  he  say?  How  could  he  defend 
himself  without  betraying  his  son  ? 

Until  now  there  had  not  been  one  person  who  did 
not  believe  in  the  baron's  entire  innocence.  Could  it 
be  that  he  was  guilty  ?  His  silence  must  be  accepted 


254         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

as  a  confession  of  guilt ;  at  least,  some  present  believed 
so. 

Baron  d'Escorval  appeared  to  be  guilty.  Was  that 
not  a  sufficiently  great  victory  for  the  Due  de  Sair- 
meuse? 

He  turned  to  the  lawyers,  and  with  an  air  of  weari- 
ness and  disdain  he  said  : 

"  Now  speak,  since  it  is  absolutely  necessary  ;  but  no 
long  phrases !  We  should  have  finished  here  an  hour 
ago." 

The  oldest  lawyer  rose,  trembling  with  indignation, 
ready  to  dare  anything  for  the  sake  of  giving  free  utter- 
ance to  his  thought,  but  the  baron  checked  him. 

"  Do  not  try  to  defend  me,"  he  said,  calmly ;  "  it 
would  be  labor  wasted.  I  have  only  a  word  to  say  to 
my  judges.  Let  them  remember  what  the  noble  and 
generous  Marshal  Moncey  wrote  to  the  King :  '  The 
scaffold  does  not  make  friends.' " 

This  recollection  was  not  of  a  nature  to  soften  the 
hearts  of  the  judges.  The  marshal,  for  that  saying, 
had  been  deprived  of  his  office,  and  condemned  to  three 
months'  imprisonment. 

As  the  advocates  made  no  further  attempt  to  argue 
the  case,  the  commission  retired  to  deliberate.  This 
gave  M.  d'Escorval  an  opportunity  to  speak  with  his 
defenders.  He  shook  them  warmly  by  the  hand,  and 
thanked  them  for  their  devotion  and  for  their  courage. 

The  good  man  wept. 

Then  the  baron,  turning  to  the  oldest  among  them, 
quickly  and  in  a  low  voice  said : 

"  I  have  a  last  favor  to  ask  of  you.  When  the  sen- 
tence of  death  shall  have  been  pronounced  upon  me, 
go  at  once  to  my  son.  You  will  say  to  him  that  his 
dying  father  commands  him  to  live  ;  he  will  understand 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    255 

you.  Tell  him  it  is  my  last  wish  ;  that  he  live — live  for 
his  mother!  " 

He  said  no  more ;  the  judges  were  returning. 

Of  the  thirty  prisoners,  nine  were  declared  not  guilty, 
and  released. 

The  remaining  twenty-one,  and  M.  d'Escorval  and 
Chanlouineau  were  among  the  number,  were  con- 
demned to  death. 

But  the  smile  had  not  once  forsaken  Chanlouineau's 
lips. 

CHAPTER   XXVIII 

The  abbe  had  been  right  in  feeling  he  could  trust  the 
officers  to  whose  care  he  ha'd  confided  Maurice. 

Finding  their  entreaties  would  not  induce  him  to 
leave  the  citadel,  they  seized  him  and  literally  carried 
him  away.  He  made  the  most  desperate  efforts  to  es- 
cape ;  each  step  was  a  struggle. 

"  Leave  me !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  let  me  go  where  duty 
calls  me.  You  only  dishonor  me  in  pretending  to 
save  me." 

His  agony  was  terrible.  He  had  thrown  himself 
headlong  into  this  absurd  undertaking,  and  now  the 
responsibility  of  his  acts  had  fallen  upon  his  father. 
He,  the  culprit,  would  live,  and  his  innocent  father 
would  perish  on  the  guillotine.  It  was  to  this  his  love 
for  Marie-Anne  had  led  him,  that  radiant  love  which 
in  other  days  had  smiled  so  joyously. 

But  our  capacity  for  suffering  has  its  limits. 

When  they  had  carried  him  to  the  room  in  the  hotel 
where  his  mother  and  Marie-Anne  were  waiting  in 
agonized  surprise,  that  irresistible  torpor  which  follows 
suffering  too  intense  for  human  endurance,  crept  over 
him. 


256         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  Nothing  is  decided  yet,"  the  officers  answered  in 
response  to  Mme.  d'Escorval's  questions.  "  The  cure 
will  hasten  here  as  soon  as  the  verdict  is  rendered." 

Then,  as  they  had  promised  not  to  lose  sight  of  Mau- 
rice, they  seated  themselves  in  gloomy  silence. 

The  house  was  silent.  One  might  have  supposed 
the  hotel  deserted.  At  last,  a  little  before  four  o'clock, 
the  abbe  came  in,  followed  by  the  lawyer  to  whom  the 
baron  had  confided  his  last  wishes. 

"  My  husband ! "  exclaimed  Mme.  d'Escorval, 
springing  wildly  from  her  chair. 

The  priest  bowed  his  head ;  she  understood. 

"  Death !  "  she  faltered.  "  They  have  condemned 
him !  " 

And  overcome  by  the  terrible  blow,  she  sank  back, 
inert,  with  hanging  arms. 

But  the  weakness  did  not  last  long ;  she  again  sprang 
up,  her  eyes  brilliant  with  heroic  resolve. 

"  We  must  save  him !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  We  must 
wrest  him  from  the  scaffold.  Up,  Maurice !  up,  Marie- 
Anne!  No  more  weak  lamentations,  we  must  to 
work!  You,  also,  gentlemen,  will  aid  me.  I  can 
count  upon  your  assistance,  Monsieur  le  Cure.  What 
are  we  going  to  do  ?  I  do  not  know !  But  something 
must  be  done.  The  death  of  this  just  man  would  be 
too  great  a  crime.  God  will  not  permit  it." 

She  suddenly  paused,  with  clasped  hands,  and  eyes 
uplifted  to  heaven,  as  if  seeking  divine  inspiration. 

"  And  the  King,"  she  resumed ;  "  will  the  King  con- 
sent to  such  a  crime  ?  No.  A  king  can  refuse  mercy, 
but  he  cannot  refuse  justice.  I  will  go  to  him.  I  will 
tell  him  all !  Why  did  not  this  thought  come  to  me 
sooner?  We  must  start  for  Paris  without  losing  an 
instant.  Maurice,  you  will  accompany  me.  One  of 
you  gentlemen  will  go  at  once  and  order  post-horses." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    257 

Thinking  they  would  obey  her,  she  hastened  into  the 
next  room  to  make  preparations  for  her  journey. 

"  Poor  woman !  "  the  lawyer  whispered  to  the  abbe, 
"  she  does  not  know  that  the  sentence  of  a  military 
commission  is  executed  in  twenty-four  hours." 

"Well?" 

"  It  requires  four  days  to  make  the  journey  to  Paris." 

He  reflected  a  moment,  then  added : 

"  But,  after  all,  to  let  her  go  would  be  an  act  of 
mercy.  Did  not  Ney,  on  the  morning  of  his  execu- 
tion, implore  the  King  to  order  the  removal  of  his  wife 
who  was  sobbing  and  moaning  in  his  cell  ?  " 

The  abbe  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  said  he ;  "  Madame  d'Escorval  will  never  for- 
give us  if  we  prevent  her  from  receiving  her  hus- 
band's last  farewell." 

She,  at  that  very  moment,  re-entered  the  room,  and 
the  priest  was  trying  to  gather  courage  to  tell  her  the 
cruel  truth,  when  someone  knocked  violently  at  the 
door. 

One  of  the  officers  went  to  open  it,  and  Bavois,  the 
corporal  of  grenadiers,  entered,  his  right  hand  lifted' 
to  his  cap,  as  if  he  were  in  the  presence  of  his  superior 
officer. 

"  Is  Mademoiselle  Lacheneur  here  ?  "  he  demanded. 

Marie-Anne  came  forward. 

"  I  am  she,  Monsieur,"  she  replied ;  "  what  do  you 
desire  of  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  ordered,  Mademoiselle,  to  conduct  you  to  the 
citadel." 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  Maurice,  in  a  ferocious  tone ;  "  so 
they  imprison  women  also !  " 

The  worthy  corporal  struck  himself  a  heavy  blow 
upon  the  forehead. 
17 


258         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  I  am  an  old  stupid !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  and  express 
myself  badly.  I  meant  to  say  that  I  came  to  seek 
mademoiselle  at  the  request  of  one  of  the  condemned, 
a  man  named  Chanlouineau,  who  desires  to  speak 
with  her." 

"  Impossible,  my  good  man,"  said  one  of  the  offi- 
cers ;  "  they  would  not  allow  this  lady  to  visit  one  of 
the  condemned  without  special  permission — 

"  Well,  she  has  this  permission,"  said  the  old  soldier. 

Assuring  himself,  with  a  glance,  that  he  had  nothing 
to  fear  from  anyone  present,  he  added,  in  lower  tones : 

"  This  Chanlouineau  told  me  that  the  cure  would 
understand  his  reasons." 

Had  the  brave  peasant  really  found  some  means  of 
salvation  ?  The  abbe  almost  began  to  believe  it. 

"  You  must  go  with  this  worthy  man,  Marie-Anne," 
said  he. 

The  poor  girl  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  seeing 
Chanlouineau  again,  but  the  idea  of  refusing  never 
once  occurred  to  her. 

"  Let  us  go,"  she  said,  quietly. 

But  the  corporal  did  not  stir  from  his  place,  and 
winking,  according  to  his  habit  when  he  desired  to  at- 
tract the  attention  of  his  hearers: 

"  In  one  moment,"  he  said.  "  This  Chanlouineau, 
who  seems  to  be  a  shrewd  fellow,  told  me  to  tell  you 
that  all  was  going  well.  May  I  be  hung  if  I  can  see 
how!  Still  such  is  his  opinion.  He  also  told  me  to 
tell  you  not  to  stir  from  this  place,  and  not  to  attempt 
anything  until  mademoiselle  returns,  which  will  be  in 
less  than  an  hour.  He  swears  to  you  that  he  will  keep 
his  promise ;  he  only  asks  you  to  pledge  your  word  that 
you  will  obey  him " 

"  We  will  take  no  action  until  an  hour  has  passed," 
said  the  abbe.  "  I  promise  that " 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    259 

"  That  is  all.  Salute  company.  And  now,  Mad- 
emoiselle, on  the  double-quick,  march !  The  poor 
devil  over  there  must  be  on  coals  of  fire." 

That  a  condemned  prisoner  should  be  allowed  to  re- 
ceive a  visit  from  the  daughter  of  the  leader  of  the  re- 
bellion— of  that  Lacheneur  who  had  succeeded  in  mak- 
ing his  escape — was  indeed  surprising. 

But  Chanlouineau  had  been  ingenious  enough  to 
discover  a  means  of  procuring  this  special  permission. 

With  this  aim  in  view,  when  sentence  of  death  was 
passed  upon  him,  he  pretended  to  be  overcome  with 
terror,  and  to  weep  piteously. 

The  soldiers  could  scarcely  believe  their  eyes  when 
they  saw  this  robust  young  fellow,  who  had  been  so  in- 
solent and  defiant  a  few  hours  before,  so  overcome  that 
they  were  obliged  to  carry  him  to  his  cell. 

There,  his  lamentations  were  redoubled ;  and  he 
begged  the  guard  to  go  to  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse,  or 
the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu,  and  tell  them  he  had  reve- 
lations of  the  greatest  importance  to  make. 

That  potent  word  "  revelations  "  made  M.  de  Cour- 
tornieu  hasten  to  the  prisoner's  cell. 

He  found  Chanlouineau  on  his  knees,  his  features 
distorted  by  what  was  apparently  an  agony  of  fear. 
The  man  dragged  himself  toward  him,  took  his  hands 
and  kissed  them,  imploring  mercy  and  forgiveness, 
swearing  that  to  preserve  his  life  he  was  ready  to  do 
anything,  yes,  anything,  even  to  deliver  up  M.  La- 
cheneur. 

To  capture  Lacheneur!  Such  a  prospect  had 
powerful  attractions  for  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu. 

"  Do  you  know,  then,  where  this  brigand  is  con- 
cealed ?  "  he  inquired. 

Chanlouineau  admitted  that  he  did  not  know,  but 


260         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

declared  that  Marie-Anne,  Lacheneur's  daughter, 
knew  her  father's  hiding-place.  She  had,  he  declared, 
perfect  confidence  in  him ;  and  if  they  would  only  send 
for  her,  and  allow  him  ten  minutes'  private  conversa- 
tion with  her,  he  was  sure  he  could  obtain  the  secret  of 
her  father's  place  of  concealment.  So  the  bargain  was 
quickly  concluded. 

The  prisoner's  life  was  promised  him  in  exchange 
for  the  life  of  Lacheneur. 

A  soldier,  who  chanced  to  be  Corporal  Bavois,  was 
sent  to  summon  Marie-Anne. 

And  Chanlouineau  waited  in  terrible  anxiety.  No 
one  had  told  him  what  had  taken  place  at  Escorval,  but 
he  divined  it  by  the  aid  of  that  strange  prescience 
which  so  often  illuminates  the  mind  when  death  is  near 
at  hand. 

He  was  almost  certain  that  Mme.  d'Escorval  was  in 
Montaignac ;  he  was  equally  certain  that  Marie- Anne 
was  with  her ;  and  if  she  were,  he  knew  that  she  would 
come. 

And  he  waited,  counting  the  seconds  by  the  throb- 
bings  of  his  heart. 

He  waited,  understanding  the  cause  of  every  sound 
without,  distinguishing  with  the  marvellous  acuteness 
of  senses  excited  to  the  highest  pitch  by  passion, 
sounds  which  would  have  been  inaudible  to  another 
person. 

At  last,  at  the  end  of  the  corridor,  he  heard  the  rust- 
ling of  a  dress  against  the  wall. 

"  It  is  she,"  he  murmured. 

Footsteps  approached ;  the  heavy  bolts  were  drawn 
back,  the  door  opened,  and  Marie-Anne  entered,  ac- 
companied by  Corporal  Bavois. 

"  Monsieur  de  Courtornieu  promised  me  that  we 
should  be  left  alone !  "  exclaimed  Chanlouineau. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    261 

"  Therefore,  I  go  at  once,"  replied  the  old  soldier. 
"  But  I  have  orders  to  return  for  mademoiselle  in  half 
an  hour." 

When  the  door  closed  behind  the  worthy  corporal, 
Chanlouineau  took  Marie-Anne's  hand  and  drew  her 
to  the  tiny  grated  window. 

"  Thank  you  for  coming,"  said  he,  "  thank  you.  I 
can  see  you  and  speak  to  you  once  more.  Now  that 
my  hours  are  numbered,  I  may  reveal  the  secret  of  my 
soul  and  of  my  life.  Now,  I  can  venture  to  tell  you 
how  ardently  I  have  loved  you — how  much  I  still  love 
you." 

Involuntarily  Marie-Anne  drew  away  her  hand  and 
stepped  back. 

This  outburst  of  passion,  at  such  a  moment,  seemed 
at  once  unspeakably  sad  and  frightful. 

"  Have  I,  then,  offended  you  ?  "  said  Chanlouineau, 
sadly.  "  Forgive  one  who  is  about  to  die !  You  can- 
not refuse  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  one,  who  after  to- 
morrow, will  have  vanished  from  earth  forever. 

"  I  have  loved  you  for  a  long  time,  Marie-Anne,  for 
more  than  six  years.  Before  I  saw  you,  I  loved  only 
my  possessions.  To  raise  fine  crops,  and  to  amass  a 
fortune,  seemed  to  me,  then,  the  greatest  possible  hap- 
piness here  below. 

"  Why  did  I  meet  you  ?  But  at  that  time  you  were 
so  high,  and  I,  so  low,  that  never  in  my  wildest  dreams 
did  I  aspire  to  you.  I  went  to  church  each  Sunday 
only  that  I  might  worship  you  as  peasant  women  wor- 
ship the  Blessed  Virgin ;  I  went  home  with  my  eyes 
and  my  heart  full  of  you — and  that  was  all. 

"  Then  came  the  misfortune  that  brought  us  nearer 
to  each  other ;  and  your  father  made  me  as  insane,  yes, 
as  insane  as  himself. 


262         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  After  the  insults  he  received  from  the  Sairmeuse, 
your  father  resolved  to  revenge  himself  upon  these 
arrogant  nobles,  and  he  selected  me  for  his  accomplice. 
He  had  read  my  heart.  On  leaving  the  house  of  Baron 
d'Escorval,  on  that  Sunday  evening,  which  you  must 
remember,  the  compact  that  bound  me  to  your  father 
was  made. 

"  '  You  love  my  daughter,  my  boy,'  said  he.  '  Very 
well,  aid  me,  and  I  promise  you,  in  case  we  succeed, 
she  shall  be  your  wife.  Only,'  he  added,  '  I  must  warn 
you  that  you  hazard  your  life.' 

"  But  what  was  life  in  comparison  with  the  hope 
that  dazzled  me !  From  that  night  I  gave  body,  soul, 
and  fortune  to  the  cause.  Others  were  influenced  by 
hatred,  or  by  ambition ;  but  I  was  actuated  by  neither 
of  these  motives. 

"  What  did  the  quarrels  of  the  great  matter  to  me — 
a  simple  laborer  ?  I  knew  that  the  greatest  were  pow- 
erless to  give  my  crops  a  drop  of  rain  in  season  of 
drought,  or  a  ray  of  sunshine  during  the  rain. 

"  I  took  part  in  this  conspiracy  because  I  loved 
you " 

"  Ah !  you  are  cruel !  "  exclaimed  Marie-Anne, 
"  you  are  pitiless !  " 

It  seemed  to  the  poor  girl  that  he  was  reproaching 
her  for  the  horrible  fate  which  Lacheneur  had  brought 
upon  him,  and  for  the  terrible  part  which  her  father 
had  imposed  upon  her,  and  which  she  had  not  been 
strong  enough  to  refuse  to  perform. 

But  Chanlouineau  scarcely  heard  Marie-Anne's  ex- 
clamation. All  the  bitterness  of  the  past  had  mounted 
to  his  brain  like  fumes  of  alcohol.  He  was  scarcely 
conscious  of  his  own  words. 

"  But  the  day  soon  came,"  he  continued,  "  when  my 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    263 

foolish  illusions  were  destroyed.  You  could  not  be 
mine  since  you  belonged  to  another.  I  might  have 
broken  my  compact !  I  thought  of  doing  so,  but  had 
not  the  courage.  To  see  you,  to  hear  your  voice,  to 
dwell  beneath  the  same  roof  with  you,  was  happiness. 
I  longed  to  see  you  happy  and  honored ;  I  fought 
for  the  triumph  of  another,  for  him  whom  you  had 
chosen " 

A  sob  that  had  risen  in  his  throat  choked  his  utter- 
ance ;  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  to  hide  his  tears, 
and,  for  a  moment,  seemed  completely  overcome. 

But  he  mastered  his  weakness  after  a  little  and  in  a 
firm  voice,  he  said  : 

"  We  must  not  linger  over  the  past.  Time  flies  and 
the  future  is  ominous." 

As  he  spoke,  he  went  to  the  door  and  applied  first 
his  eye,  then  his  ear  to  the  opening,  to  see  that  there 
were  no  spies  without. 

No  one  was  in  the  corridor;  he  could  not  hear  a 
sound. 

He  came  back  to  Marie-Anne's  side,  and  tearing 
the  sleeve  of  his  jacket  open  with  his  teeth,  he  drew 
from  it  two  letters,  wrapped  carefully  in  a  piece  of 
cloth. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  is  a  man's  life !  " 

Marie-Anne  knew  nothing  of  Chanlouineau's  prom- 
ises and  hopes,  and  bewildered  by  her  distress,  she  did 
not  at  first  understand. 

"  This,"  she  exclaimed,  "  is  a  man's  life !  " 

"  Hush,  speak  lower !  "  interrupted  Chanlouineau. 
"  Yes,  one  of  these  letters  might  perhaps  save  the  life 
of  one  who  has  been  condemned  to  death." 

"  Unfortunate  man !  Why  do  you  not  make  use  of 
it  and  save  yourself  ?  " 


264         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

The  young  man  sadly  shook  his  head. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  could  ever  love  me  ?  "  he 
said,  simply.  "  No,  it  is  not.  I  have,  therefore,  no 
desire  to  live.  Rest  beneath  the  sod  is  preferable  to 
the  misery  I  am  forced  to  endure.  Moreover  I  was 
justly  condemned.  I  knew  what  I  was  doing  when  I 
left  the  Reche  with  my  gun  upon  my  shoulder,  and 
my  sword  by  my  side;  I  have  no  right  to  complain. 
But  those  cruel  judges  have  condemned  an  innocent 
man " 

"  Baron  d'Escorval  ?  " 

"  Yes— the  father  of— Maurice !  " 

His  voice  changed  in  uttering  the  name  of  this  man, 
for  whose  happiness  he  would  have  given  ten  lives  had 
they  been  his  to  give. 

"  I  wish  to  save  him,"  he  added,  "  I  can  do  it." 

"  Oh !  if  what  you  said  were  true  ?  But  you  un- 
doubtedly deceive  yourself." 

"  I  know  what  I  am  saying." 

Fearing  that  some  spy  outside  would  overhear  him, 
he  came  close  to  Marie- Anne  and  said,  rapidly,  and  in  a 
low  voice : 

"  I  never  believed  in  the  success  of  this  conspiracy. 
When  I  sought  for  a  weapon  of  defence  in  case  of  fail- 
ure, the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  furnished  it.  When  it 
became  necessary  to  send  a  circular  warning  our  ac- 
complices of  the  date  decided  upon  for  the  uprising,  I 
persuaded  Monsieur  Martial  to  write  a  model.  He 
suspected  nothing.  I  told  him  it  was  for  a  wedding; 
he  did  what  I  asked.  This  letter,  which  is  now  in  my 
possession,  is  the  rough  draft  of  the  circular;  and  it 
was  written  by  the  hand  of  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse. 
It  is  impossible  for  him  to  deny  it.  There  is  an  erasure 
on  each  line.  Everyone  would  regard  it  as  the  handi- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    265 

work  of  a  man  who  was  seeking  to  convey  his  real 
meaning  in  ambiguous  phrases. 

Chanlouineau  opened  the  envelope  and  showed  her 
the  famous  letter  which  he  had  dictated,  and  in  which 
the  space  for  the  date  of  the  insurrection  was  left  blank. 

"  My  dear  friend,  we  are  at  last  agreed,  and  the  mar- 
riage is  decided,  etc." 

The  light  that  had  sparkled  in  Marie-Anne's  eye 
was  suddenly  extinguished. 

"  And  you  believe  that  this  letter  can  be  of  any  ser- 
vice ?  "  she  inquired,  in  evident  discouragement. 

"  I  do  not  think  it !  " 

"  But " 

With  a  gesture,  he  interrupted  her. 

"  We  must  not  lose  time  in  discussion — listen  to  me. 
Of  itself,  this  letter  might  be  unimportant,  but  I  have 
arranged  matters  in  such  a  way  that  it  will  produce  a 
powerful  effect.  I  declared  before  the  commission  that 
the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  was  one  of  the  leaders  of  the 
movement.  They  laughed  ;  and  I  read  incredulity  on 
the  faces  of  the  judges.  But  calumny  is  never  without 
its  effect.  When  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  is  about  to 
receive  a  reward  for  his  services,  there  will  be  enemies 
in  plenty  to  remember  and  to  repeat  my  words.  He 
knew  this  so  well  that  he  was  greatly  agitated,  even 
while  his  colleagues  sneered  at  my  accusation." 

"  To  accuse  a  man  falsely  is  a  great  crime,"  mur- 
mured the  honest  Marie-Anne. 

"  Yes,  but  I  wish  to  save  my  friend,  and  I  cannot 
choose  my  means.  I  was  all  the  more  sure  of  success 
as  I  knew  that  the  marquis  had  been  wounded.  I  de- 
clared that  he  was  fighting  against  the  troops  by  my 
side ;  I  demanded  that  he  should  be  summoned  before 
the  tribunal ;  I  told  them  that  I  had  in  my  possession 
unquestionable  proofs  of  his  complicity." 


266         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  Did  you  say  that  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  had 
been  wounded  ?  "  inquired  Marie-Anne. 

Chanlouineau's  face  betrayed  the  most  intense  aston- 
ishment. 

"  What !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  do  not  know 

Then  after  an  instant's  reflection : 

"  Fool  that  I  am !  "  he  resumed.  "  Who  could  have 
told  you  what  had  happened?  You  remember  that 
when  we  were  travelling  over  the  Sairmeuse  road  on 
our  way  to  the  Croix  d'Arcy,  and  after  your  father  had 
left  us  to  ride  on  in  advance,  Maurice  placed  himself  at 
the  head  of  one  division,  and  you  walked  beside  him, 
while  your  brother  Jean  and  myself  stayed  behind  to 
urge  on  the  laggards.  We  were  performing  our  duty 
conscientiously  when  suddenly  we  heard  the  gallop  of 
a  horse  behind  us.  '  We  must  know  who  is  coming,' 
Jean  said  to  me. 

"  We  paused.  The  horse  soon  reached  us ;  we 
caught  the  bridle  and  held  him.  Can  you  guess  who 
the  rider  was  ?  Martial  de  Sairmeuse. 

"  To  describe  your  brother's  fury  on  recognizing  the 
marquis  would  be  impossible. 

"  '  At  last  I  find  you,  wretched  noble ! '  he  ex- 
claimed, '  and  now  we  will  settle  our  account !  After 
reducing  my  father,  who  has  just  given  you  a  fortune, 
to  despair  and  penury,  you  have  tried  to  degrade  my 
sister.  I  will  have  my  revenge !  Down,  we  must 
fight!'" 

Marie-Anne  could  scarcely  tell  whether  she  was 
awake  or  dreaming. 

"  My  brother,"  she  murmured,  "  has  challenged  the 
marquis  !  Is  it  possible  ?  " 

"  Brave  as  Monsieur  Martial  is,"  pursued  Chanloui- 
neau,  "  he  did  not  seem  inclined  to  accept  the  invita- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    267 

tion.  He  stammered  out  something  like  this :  '  You 
are  mad — you  are  jesting — have  we  not  always  been 
friends  ?  What  does  this  mean  ?  ' 

"  Jean  ground  his  teeth  in  rage.  '  This  means  that 
we  have  endured  your  insulting  familiarity  long 
enough/  he  replied,  '  and  if  you  do  not  dismount  and 
meet  me  in  open  combat,  I  will  blow  your  brains  out ! ' 

"  Your  brother,  as  he  spoke,  manipulated  his  pistol 
in  so  threatening  a  manner  that  the  marquis  dismount- 
ed, and  addressing  me : 

" '  You  see,  Chanlouineau,'  he  said,  '  I  must  fight  a 
duel  or  submit  to  assassination.  If  Jean  kills  me  there 
is  no  more  to  be  said — but  if  I  kill  him,  what  is  to  be 
done  ? ' 

"  I  told  him  he  would  be  free  to  depart  on  condition 
he  would  give  me  his  word  not  to  return  to  Montaignac 
before  two  o'clock. 

"  '  Then  I  accept  the  challenge,'  said  he ;  '  give  me  a 
weapon.' 

"  I  gave  him  my  sword,  your  brother  drew  his,  and 
they  took  their  places  in  the  middle  of  the  highway." 

The  young  farmer  paused  to  take  breath,  then  said, 
more  slowly : 

"  Marie-Anne,  your  father  and  I  have  misjudged 
your  brother.  Poor  Jean's  appearance  is  terribly 
against  him.  His  face  indicates  a  treacherous,  cow- 
ardly nature,  his  smile  is  cunning,  and  his  eyes  always 
shun  yours.  We  have  distrusted  him,  but  we  should 
ask  his  pardon.  A  man  who  fights  as  I  saw  him  fight, 
is  deserving  of  confidence.  For  this  combat  in  the 
public  road,  and  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  was  ter- 
rible. They  attacked  each  other  silently  but  furious- 
ly. At  last  Jean  fell." 

"  Ah  !  my  brother  is  dead !  "  exclaimed  Marie- Anne. 


268         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

"  No,"  responded  Chanlouineau ;  "  at  least  we  have 
reason  to  hope  not ;  and  I  know  he  has  not  lacked  any 
attention.  This  duel  had  another  witness,  a  man 
named  Poignot,  whom  you  must  remember;  he  was 
one  of  your  father's  tenants.  He  took  Jean,  promising 
me  that  he  would  conceal  him  and  care  for  him. 

"  As  for  the  marquis,  he  showed  me  that  he  too  was 
wounded,  and  then  he  remounted  his  horse,  saying : 

"  '  What  could  I  do  ?     He  would  have  it  so.'  " 

Marie-Anne  understood  now. 

"  Give  me  the  letter,"  she  said  to  Chanlouineau,  "  I 
will  go  to  the  duke.  I  will  find  some  way  to  reach 
him,  and  then  God  will  tell  me  what  course  to  pursue." 

The  noble  peasant  handed  the  girl  the  tiny  scrap  of 
paper  which  might  have  been  his  own  salvation. 

"  On  no  account,"  said  he,  "  must  you  allow  the 
duke  to  suppose  that  you  have  upon  your  person  the 
proof  with  which  you  threaten  him.  Who  knows  of 
what  he  might  be  capable  under  such  circumstances? 
He  will  say,  at  first,  that  he  can  do  nothing — that  he 
sees  no  way  to  save  the  baron.  You  will  tell  him  that 
he  must  find  a  means,  if  he  does  not  wish  this  letter  sent 
to  Paris,  to  one  of  his  enemies " 

He  paused ;  he  heard  the  grating  of  the  bolt.  Cor- 
poral Bavois  reappeared. 

"  The  half  hour  expired  ten  minutes  ago,"  he  said, 
sadly.  "  I  have  my  orders." 

"  Coming,"  said  Chanlouineau  ;  "  all  is  ended !  " 

And  handing  Marie- Anne  the  second  letter: 

"  This  is  for  you,"  he  added.  "  You  will  read  it 
when  I  am  no  more.  Pray,  pray,  do  not  weep  thus ! 
Be  brave  !  You  will  soon  be  the  wife  of  Maurice.  And 
when  you  are  happy,  think  sometimes  of  the  poor 
peasant  who  loved  you  so  much." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    269 

Marie-Anne  could  not  utter  a  word,  but  she  lifted 
her  face  to  his. 

"  Ah !   I  dared  not  ask  it !  "  he  exclaimed. 

And  for  the  first  time  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms  and 
pressed  his  lips  to  her  pallid  cheek. 

"  Now  adieu,"  he  said  once  more.  "  Do  not  lose  a 
moment.  Adieu !  " 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

The  prospect  of  capturing  Lacheneur,  the  chief  con- 
spirator, excited  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  so  much 
that  he  had  not  been  able  to  tear  himself  away  from 
the  citadel  to  return  home  to  his  dinner. 

Remaining  near  the  entrance  of  the  dark  corridor 
leading  to  Chanlouineau's  cell,  he  watched  Marie- Anne 
depart ;  but  as  he  saw  her  go  out  into  the  twilight 
with  a  quick,  alert  step,  he  felt  a  sudden  doubt  of  Chan- 
louineau's sincerity. 

"  Can  it  be  that  this  miserable  peasant  has  deceived 
me?  "  he  thought. 

So  strong  was  this  suspicion  that  he  hastened  after 
her,  determined  to  question  her — to  ascertain  the  truth 
— to  arrest  her,  if  necessary. 

But  he  no  longer  possessed  the  agility  of  youth,  and 
when  he  reached  the  gateway  the  guard  told  him  that 
Mile.  Lacheneur  had  already  passed  out.  He  rushed 
out  after  her,  looked  about  on  every  side,  but  could  see 
no  trace  of  her.  He  re-entered  the  citadel,  furious 
with  himself  for  his  own  credulity. 

"  Still,  I  can  visit  Chanlouineau,"  thought  he,  "  and 
to-morrow  will  be  time  enough  to  summon  this  creat- 
ure and  question  her." 


270        THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  This  creature  "  was  even  then  hastening  up  the 
long,  ill-paved  street  that  led  to  the  Hotel  de  France. 

Regardless  of  self,  and  of  the  curious  gaze  of  a  few 
passers-by,  she  ran  on,  thinking  only  of  shortening  the 
terrible  anxiety  which  her  friends  at  the  hotel  must  be 
enduring. 

"  All  is  not  lost !  "  she  exclaimed,  on  re-entering  the 
room. 

"  My  God,  Thou  hast  heard  my  prayers !  "  mur- 
mured the  baroness. 

Then,  suddenly  seized  by  a  horrible  dread,  she 
added : 

"  Do  not  attempt  to  deceive  me.  Are  you  not  try- 
ing to  elude  me  with  false  hopes?  That  would  be 
cruel !  " 

"  I  am  not  deceiving  you,  Madame.  Chanlouineau 
has  given  me  a  weapon,  which,  I  hope  and  believe, 
places  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  in  our  power.  He  is  om- 
nipotent in  Montaignac ;  the  only  man  who  could  op- 
pose him,  Monsieur  de  Courtornieu,  is  his  friend.  I 
believe  that  Monsieur  d'Escorval  can  be  saved." 

"  Speak !  "  cried  Maurice  ;  "  what  must  we  do  ?  " 

"  Pray  and  wait,  Maurice.  I  must  act  alone  in  this 
matter,  but  be  assured  that  I — the  cause  of  all  your 
misfortune — will  leave  nothing  undone  which  is  possi- 
ble for  mortal  to  do." 

Absorbed  in  the  task  which  she  had  imposed  upon 
herself,  Marie-Anne  had  failed  to  remark  a  stranger 
who  had  arrived  during  her  absence — an  old  white- 
haired  peasant. 

The  abbe  called  her  attention  to  him. 

"  Here  is  a  courageous  friend,"  said  he,  "  who  since 
morning,  has  been  searching  for  you  everywhere,  in 
order  to  give  you  news  of  your  father." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    271 

Marie- Anne  was  so  overcome  that  she  could  scarce- 
ly falter  her  gratitude. 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  thank  me,"  answered  the  brave 
peasant.  "  I  said  to  myself :  '  The  poor  girl  must  be 
terribly  anxious.  I  ought  to  relieve  her  of  her  misery.' 
So  I  came  to  tell  you  that  Monsieur  Lacheneur  is  safe 
and  well,  except  for  a  wound  in  the  leg,  which  causes 
him  considerable  suffering,  but  which  will  be  healed  in 
two  or  three  weeks.  My  son-in-law,  who  was  hunting 
yesterday  in  the  mountains,  met  him  near  the  frontier 
in  company  with  two  of  his  friends.  By  this  time  he 
must  be  in  Piedmont,  beyond  the  reach  of  the  gen- 
darmes." 

"  Let  us  hope  now,"  said  the  abbe,  "  that  we  shall 
soon  hear  what  has  become  of  Jean." 

"  I  know,  already,  Monsieur,"  responded  Marie- 
Anne  ;  "  my  brother  has  been  badly  wounded,  and  he  is 
now  under  the  protection  of  kind  friends." 

She  bowed  her  head,  almost  crushed  beneath  her 
burden  of  sorrow,  but  soon  rallying,  she  exclaimed : 

"  What  am  I  doing !  What  right  have  I  to  think  of 
my  friends,  when  upon  my  promptness  and  upon  my 
courage  depends  the  life  of  an  innocent  man  compro- 
mised by  them  ?  " 

Maurice,  the  abbe,  and  the  officers  surrounded  the 
brave  young  girl.  They  wished  to  know  what  she  was 
about  to  attempt,  and  to  dissuade  her  from  incurring 
useless  danger. 

She  refused  to  reply  to  their  pressing  questions. 
They  wished  to  accompany  her,  or,  at  least,  to  follow 
her  at  a  distance,  but  she  declared  that  she  must  go 
alone. 

"  I  will  return  in  less  than  two  hours,  and  then  we 
can  decide  what  must  be  done,"  said  she,  as  she  hast- 
ened away. 


272        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

To  obtain  an  audience  with  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse 
was  certainly  a  difficult  matter ;  Maurice  and  the  abbe 
had  proved  that  only  too  well  the  previous  day.  Be- 
sieged by  weeping  and  heart-broken  families,  he  shut 
himself  up  securely,  fearing,  perhaps,  that  he  might  be 
moved  by  their  entreaties. 

Marie-Anne  knew  this,  but  it  did  not  alarm  her. 
Chanlouineau  had  given  her  a  word,  the  same  which 
he  had  used;  and  this  word  was  a  key  which  would 
unlock  the  most  firmly  and  obstinately  locked  doors. 

In  the  vestibule  of  the  house  occupied  by  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse,  three  or  four  valets  stood  talking. 

"  I  am  the  daughter  of  Monsieur  Lacheneur,"  said 
Marie-Anne,  addressing  one  of  them.  "  I  must  speak 
to  the  duke  at  once,  on  matters  connected  with  the  re- 
volt." 

"  The  duke  is  absent." 

"  I  came  to  make  a  revelation." 

The  servant's  manner  suddenly  changed. 

"  In  that  case  follow  me,  Mademoiselle." 

She  followed  him  up  the  stairs  and  through  two  or 
three  rooms.  At  last  he  opened  a  door,  saying,  "  en- 
ter." She  went  in. 

It  was  not  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  who  was  in  the 
room,  but  his  son,  Martial. 

Stretched  upon  a  sofa,  he  was  reading  a  paper  by  the 
light  of  a  large  candelabra. 

On  seeing  Marie-Anne  he  sprang  up,  as  pale  and 
agitated  as  if  the  door  had  given  passage  to  a  spectre. 

"  You !  "  he  stammered. 

But  he  quickly  mastered  his  emotion,  and  in  a  second 
his  quick  mind  revolved  all  the  possibilities  that  might 
have  produced  this  visit. 

"  Lacheneur    has    been    arrested !  "    he   exclaimed, 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    273 

"  and  you,  wishing  to  save  him  from  the  fate  which  the 
military  commission  will  pronounce  upon  him,  have 
thought  of  me.  Thank  you,  dearest  Marie-Anne, 
thank  you  for  your  confidence.  I  will  not  abuse  it. 
Let  your  heart  be  reassured.  We  will  save  your 
father,  I  promise  you — I  swear  it.  How,  I  do  not  yet 
know.  But  what  does  that  matter?  It  is  enough  that 
he  shall  be  saved.  I  will  have  it  so !  " 

His  voice  betrayed  the  intense  passion  and  joy  that 
was  surging  in  his  heart. 

"  My  father  has  not  been  arrested,"  said  Marie- 
Anne,  coldly. 

"  Then,"  said  Martial,  with  some  hesitation,  "  then 
it  is  Jean  who  is  a  prisoner." 

"  My  brother  is  in  safety.  If  he  survives  his  wounds 
he  will  escape  all  attempts  at  capture." 

From  white  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  had  turned 
as  red  as  fire.  By  Marie-Anne's  manner  he  saw  that 
she  knew  of  the  duel.  He  made  no  attempt  to  deny 
it ;  but  he  tried  to  excuse  himself. 

"  It  was  Jean  who  challenged  me,"  said  he ;  "I  tried 
to  avoid  it.  I  only  defended  my  own  life  in  fair  com- 
bat, and  with  equal  weapons " 

Marie-Anne  interrupted  him. 

"  I  reproach  you  for  nothing,  Monsieur  le  Marquis," 
she  said,  quietly. 

"  Ah !  Marie-Anne,  I  am  more  severe  than  you. 
Jean  was  right  to  challenge  me.  I  deserved  his  anger. 
He  knew  the  baseness  of  which  I  had  been  guilty ;  but 
you — you  were  ignorant  of  it.  Oh  !  Marie- Anne,  if  I 
wronged  you  in  thought  it  was  because  I  did  not  know 
you.  Now  I  know  that  you,  above  all  others,  are 
pure  and  chaste." 

He   tried   to  take   her   hands;    she   repulsed   him 

18 


274         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

with  horror;  and  broke  into  a  fit  of  passionate 
sobbing. 

Of  all  the  blows  she  had  received  this  last  was  most 
terrible  and  overwhelming. 

What  humiliation  and  shame !  Now,  indeed,  was 
her  cup  of  sorrow  rilled  to  overflowing.  "  Chaste  and 
pure  !  "  he  had  said.  Oh,  bitter  mockery ! 

But  Martial  misunderstood  the  meaning  of  the  poor 
girl's  gesture. 

"  Oh !  I  comprehend  your  indignation,"  he  re- 
sumed, with  growing  eagerness.  "  But  if  I  have  in- 
jured you  even  in  thought,  I  now  offer  you  reparation. 
I  have  been  a  fool — a  miserable  fool — for  I  love  you; 
I  love,  and  can  love  you  only.  I  am  the  Marquis  de 
Sairmeuse.  I  am  the  possessor  of  millions.  I  entreat 
you,  I  implore  you  to  be  my  wife." 

Marie-Anne  listened  in  utter  bewilderment.  Ver- 
tigo seized  her ;  even  reason  seemed  to  totter  upon  its 
throne. 

But  now,  it  had  been  Chanlouineau  who,  in  his 
prison-cell,  cried  that  he  died  for  love  of  her.  Now,  it 
was  Martial  who  avowed  his  willingness  to  sacrifice 
his  ambition  and  his  future  for  her  sake. 

And  the  poor  peasant  condemned  to  death,  and  the 
son  of  the  all-powerful  Due  de  Sairmeuse,  had  avowed 
their  passion  in  almost  the  very  same  words. 

Martial  paused,  awaiting  some  response — a  word,  a 
gesture.  But  Marie-Anne  remained  mute,  motionless, 
frozen. 

"  You  are  silent,"  he  cried,  with  increased  vehe- 
mence. "Do  you  question  my  sincerity?  No,  it  is 
impossible !  Then  why  this  silence  ?  Do  you  fear  my 
father's  opposition  ?  You  need  not.  I  know  how  to 
gain  his  consent.  Besides,  what  does  his  approbation 
matter  to  us  ?  Have  we  any  need  of  him  ?  Am  I  not 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    275 

my  own  master  ?  Am  I  not  rich — immensely  rich  ?  I 
should  be  a  miserable  fool,  a  coward,  if  I  hesitated  be- 
tween his  stupid  prejudices  and  the  happiness  of  my 
life." 

He  was  evidently  obliging  himself  to  weigh  all  the 
possible  objections,  in  order  to  answer  them  and  over- 
rule them. 

"  Is  it  on  account  of  your  family  that  you  hesitate?  " 
he  continued.  "  Your  father  and  brother  are  pursued, 
and  France  is  closed  against  them.  Very  well,  we  will 
leave  France,  and  they  shall  come  and  live  near  you. 
Jean  will  no  longer  dislike  me  when  you  are  my  wife. 
We  will  all  live  in  England  or  in  Italy.  Now  I  am 
grateful  for  the  fortune  that  will  enable  me  to  make  life 
a  continual  enchantment  for  you.  I  love  you — and  in 
the  happiness  and  tender  love  which  shall  be  yours  in 
the  future,  I  will  compel  you  to  forget  all  the  bitterness 
of  the  past !  " 

Marie-Anne  knew  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  well 
enough  to  understand  the  intensity  of  the  love  revealed 
by  these  astounding  propositions. 

And  for  that  very  reason  she  hesitated  to  tell  him  that 
he  had  won  this  triumph  over  his  pride  in  vain. 

She  was  anxiously  wondering  to  what  extremity  his 
wounded  vanity  would  carry  him,  and  if  a  refusal  would 
not  transform  him  into  a  bitter  enemy. 

"  Why  do  you  not  answer  ?  "  asked  Martial,  with 
evident  anxiety. 

She  felt  that  she  must  reply,  that  she  must  speak, 
say  something ;  but  she  could  not  unclose  her  lips. 

"  I  am  only  a  poor  girl,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  she 
murmured,  at  last.  "  If  I  accepted  your  offer,  you 
would  regret  it  continually." 

"Never!" 


276         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  But  you  are  no  longer  free.  You  have  already 
plighted  your  troth.  Mademoiselle  Blanche  de  Cour- 
tornieu  is  your  promised  wife." 

"  Ah  !  say  one  word — only  one — and  this  engage- 
ment, which  I  detest,  is  broken." 

She  was  silent.  It  was  evident  that  her  mind  was 
fully  made  up,  and  that  she  refused  his  offer. 

"  Do  you  hate  me,  then  ?  "  asked  Martial,  sadly. 

If  she  had  allowed  herself  to  tell  the  whole  truth 
Marie-Anne  would  have  answered  "  Yes."  The  Mar- 
quis de  Sairmeuse  did  inspire  her  with  an  almost  insur- 
mountable aversion. 

"  I  no  more  belong  to  myself  than  you  belong  to 
yourself,  Monsieur,"  she  faltered. 

A  gleam  of  hatred,  quickly  extinguished,  shone  in 
Martial's  eye. 

"  Always  Maurice !  "  said  he. 

"  Always." 

She  expected  an  angry  outburst,  but  he  remained 
perfectly  calm. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  with  a  forced  smile,  "  I  must  be- 
lieve this  and  other  evidence.  I  must  believe  that  you 
have  forced  me  to  play  a  most  ridiculous  part.  Until 
now  I  doubted  it." 

The  poor  girl  bowed  her  head,  crimsoning  with 
shame  to  the  roots  of  her  hair;  but  she  made  no  at- 
tempt at  denial. 

"  /  was  not  my  own  mistress,"  she  stammered ;  "my' 
father  commanded  and  threatened,  and  I — I  obeyed 
him." 

"  That  matters  little,"  he  interrupted ;  "  your  role 
has  not  been  that  which  a  pure  young  girl  should  play." 

It  was  the  only  reproach  he  had  uttered,  and  still  he 
regretted  it,  perhaps  because  he  did  not  wish  her  to 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    277 

know  how  deeply  he  was  wounded,  perhaps  because — 
as  he  afterward  declared — he  could  not  overcome  his 
love  for  Marie-Anne. 

"  Now,"  he  resumed,  "  I  understand  your  presence 
here.  You  come  to  ask  mercy  for  Monsieur  d'Escor- 
val." 

"  Not  mercy,  but  justice.     The  baron  is  innocent." 

Martial  approached  Marie-Anne,  and  lowering  his 
voice : 

"  If  the  father  is  innocent,"  he  whispered,  "  then  it  is 
the  son  who  is  guilty." 

She  recoiled  in  terror.  He  knew  the  secret  which 
the  judges  could  not,  or  would  not  penetrate. 

But  seeing  her  anguish,  he  had  pity. 

"  Another  reason,"  said  he,  "  for  attempting  to  save 
the  baron !  His  blood  shed  upon  the  guillotine  would 
form  an  impassable  gulf  between  Maurice  and  you.  I 
will  join  my  efforts  to  yours." 

Blushing  and  embarrassed,  Marie-Anne  dared  not 
thank  him.  How  was  she  about  to  reward  his  gener- 
osity ?  By  vilely  traducing  him.  Ah !  she  would  in- 
finitely have  preferred  to  see  him  angry  and  revenge- 
ful. 

Just  then  a  valet  opened  the  door,  and  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse,  still  in  full  uniform,  entered. 

"  Upon  my  word !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  crossed  the 
threshold,  "  I  must  confess  that  Chupin  is  an  admirable 
hunter.  Thanks  to  him " 

He  paused  abruptly;  he  had  not  perceived  Marie- 
Anne  until  now. 

"  The  daughter  of  that  scoundrel  Lacheneur !  "  said 
he,  with  an  air  of  the  utmost  surprise.  "  What  does 
she  desire  here?  " 

The  decisive  moment  had  come — the  life  of  the  baron 


278         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

hung  upon  Marie-Anne's  courage  and  address.  The 
consciousness  of  the  terrible  responsibility  devolving 
upon  her  restored  her  self-control  and  calmness  as  if 
by  magic. 

"  I  have  a  revelation  to  sell  to  you,  Monsieur,"  she 
said,  resolutely. 

The  duke  regarded  her  with  mingled  wonder  and 
curiosity;  then,  laughing  heartily,  he  threw  himself 
upon  a  sofa,  exclaiming : 

"  Sell  it,  my  pretty  one — sell  it !" 

"  I  cannot  speak  until  I  am  alone  with  you." 

At  a  sign  from  his  father,  Martial  left  the  room. 

"  You  can  speak  now,"  said  the  duke. 

She  did  not  lose  a  second. 

"  You  must  have  read,  Monsieur,"  she  began,  "  the 
circular  convening  the  conspirators." 

"  Certainly ;  I  have  a  dozen  copies  in  my  pocket." 

"  By  whom  do  you  suppose  it  was  written  ?  " 

"  By  the  elder  D'Escorval,  or  by  your  father." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Monsieur ;  that  letter  was  the 
work  of  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse,  your  son." 

The  duke  sprang  up,  fire  flashing  from  his  eyes,  his 
face  purple  with  anger. 

"  Zounds !  girl !  I  advise  you  to  bridle  your 
tongue !  " 

"  The  proof  of  what  I  have  asserted  exists." 

"  Silence,  you  hussy,  or " 

'  The  lady  who  sends  me  here,  Monsieur,  possesses 
the  original  of  this  circular  written  by  the  hand  of  Mon- 
sieur Martial,  and  I  am  obliged  to  tell  you ' 

She  did  not  have  an  opportunity  to  complete  the  sen- 
tence. The  duke  sprang  to  the  door,  and,  in  a  voice  of 
thunder,  called  his  son. 

As  soon  as  Martial  entered  the  room : 


THE  HONOR  QF  THE  NAME    279 

"  Repeat,"  said  the  duke — "  repeat  before  my  son 
what  you  have  just  said  to  me." 

Boldly,  with  head  erect,  and  clear,  firm  voice,  Marie- 
Anne  repeated  her  accusation. 

She  expected,  on  the  part  of  the  marquis,  an  indig- 
nant denial,  cruel  reproaches,  or  an  angry  explanation. 
Not  a  word.  He  listened  with  a  nonchalant  air,  and  she 
almost  believed  she  could  read  in  his  eyes  an  encour- 
agement to  proceed,  and  a  promise  of  protection. 

When  she  had  concluded : 

"  Well !  "  demanded  the  duke,  imperiously. 

"  First,"  replied  Martial,  lightly,  "  I  would  like  to 
see  this  famous  circular." 

The  duke  handed  him  a  copy. 

"  Here— read  it." 

Martial  glanced  over  it,  laughed  heartily,  and  ex- 
claimed : 

"  A  clever  trick." 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  say  that  this  Chanlouineau  is  a  sly  rascal.  Who 
the  devil  would  have  thought  the  fellow  so  cunning  to 
see  his  honest  face?  Another  lesson  to  teach  one  not 
to  trust  to  appearances." 

In  all  his  life  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  had  never  re- 
ceived so  severe  a  shock. 

"  Chanlouineau  was  not  lying,  then,"  he  said  to  his 
son,  in  a  choked,  unnatural  voice ;  "  you  were  one  of 
the  instigators  of  this  rebellion,  then  ?  " 

Martial's  face  grew  dark,  and  in  a  tone  of  disdainful 
hauteur,  he  replied : 

"  This  is  the  fourth  time,  sir,  that  you  have  addressed 
that  question  to  me,  and  for  the  fourth  time  I  answer : 
'  No.'  That  should  suffice.  If  the  fancy  had  seized 
me  for  taking  part  in  this  movement,  I  should  frankly 


280         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

confess  it.  What  possible  reason  could  I  have  for  con- 
cealing anything  from  you  ?  " 

"  The  facts !  "  interrupted  the  duke,  in  a  frenzy  of 
passion  ;  "  the  facts  !  " 

"  Very  well,"  rejoined  Martial,  in  his  usual  indif- 
ferent tone ;  "  the  fact  is  that  the  model  of  this  circular 
does  exist,  that  it  was  written  in  my  best  hand  on  a 
very  large  sheet  of  very  poor  paper.  I  recollect  that  in 
trying  to  find  appropriate  expressions  I  erased  and  re- 
wrote several  words.  Did  I  date  this  writing?  I 
think  I  did,  but  I  could  not  swear  to  it." 

"  How  do  you  reconcile  this  with  your  denials  ?  " 
exclaimed  M.  de  Sairmeuse. 

"  I  can  do  this  easily.  Did  I  not  tell  you  just  now 
that  Chanlouineau  had  made  a  tool  of  me  ?  " 

The  duke  no  longer  knew  what  to  believe  ;  but  what 
exasperated  him  more  than  all  else  was  his  son's  im- 
perturbable tranquillity. 

"  Confess,  rather,  that  you  have  been  led  into  this 
filth  by  your  mistress,"  he  retorted,  pointing  to  Marie- 
Anne. 

But  this  insult  Martial  would  not  tolerate. 

"  Mademoiselle  Lacheneur  is  not  my  mistress,"  he 
replied,  in  a  tone  so  imperious  that  it  was  a  menace. 
"  It  is  true,  however,  that  it  rests  only  with  her  to  de- 
cide whether  she  will  be  the  Marquise  de  Sairmeuse  to- 
morrow. Let  us  abandon  these  recriminations,  they 
do  not  further  the  progress  of  our  business." 

The  faint  glimmer  of  reason  which  still  lighted  M. 
de  Sairmeuse's  mind,  checked  the  still  more  insulting 
reply  that  rose  to  his  lips.  Trembling  with  suppressed 
rage,  he  made  the  circuit  of  the  room  several  times,  and 
finally  paused  before  Marie-Anne,  who  remained  in  the 
same  place,  as  motionless  as  a  statue. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    281 

"  Come,  my  good  girl,"  said  he,  "  give  me  the  writ- 
ing." 

"  It  is  not  in  my  possession,  sir." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"  In  the  hands  of  a  person  who  will  give  it  to  you 
only  under  certain  conditions." 

"  Who  is  this  person  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  tell  you." 

There  was  both  admiration  and  jealousy  in  the  look 
that  Martial  fixed  upon  Marie-Anne. 

He  was  amazed  by  her  coolness  and  presence  of 
mind.  Ah !  how  powerful  must  be  the  passion  that 
imparted  such  a  ringing  clearness  to  her  voice,  such 
brilliancy  to  her  eyes,  such  precision  to  her  responses. 

"  And  if  I  should  not  accept  the — the  conditions 
which  are  imposed,  what  then  ?  "  asked  M.  de  Sair- 
meuse. 

"  In  that  case  the  writing  will  be  utilized." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"  I  mean,  sir,  that  early  to-morrow  morning  a  trusty 
messenger  will  start  for  Paris,  charged  with  the  task 
of  submitting  this  document  to  the  eyes  of  certain  per- 
sons who  are  not  exactly  friends  of  yours.  He  will 
show  it  to  Monsieur  Laine,  for  example — or  to  the 
Due  de  Richelieu ;  and  he  will,  of  course,  explain  to 
them  its  significance  and  its  value.  Will  this  writing 
prove  the  complicity  of  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse? 
Yes,  or  no  ?  Have  you,  or  have  you  not,  dared  to  try 
and  to  condemn  to  death  the  unfortunate  men  who 
were  only  the  tools  of  your  son  ?  " 

"  Ah,  wretch  !  hussy !  viper !  "  interrupted  the  duke. 
He  was  beside  himself.  A  foam  gathered  upon  his 
lips,  his  eyes  seemed  starting  from  their  sockets;  he 
was  no  longer  conscious  of  what  he  was  saying. 


282 

"  This,"  he  exclaimed,  with  wild  gestures,  "  is 
enough  to  appall  me !  Yes,  I  have  bitter  enemies,  en- 
vious rivals  who  would  give  their  right  hand  for  his 
execrable  letter.  Ah !  if  they  obtain  it  they  will 
demand  an  investigation,  and  then  farewell  to  the  re- 
wards due  to  my  services. 

"  It  will  be  shouted  from  the  house-tops  that  Chan- 
louineau,  in  the  presence  of  the  tribunal,  declared  you, 
Marquis,  his  leader  and  his  accomplice.  You  will  be 
obliged  to  submit  to  the  scrutiny  of  physicians,  who, 
seeing  a  freshly  healed  wound,  will  require  you  to  tell 
where  you  received  it,  and  why  you  concealed  it. 

"  Of  what  shall  I  not  be  accused  ?  They  will  say  that 
I  expedited  matters  in  order  to  silence  the  voice  that 
had  been  raised  against  my  son.  Perhaps  they  will 
even  say  that  I  secretly  favored  the  insurrection ;  I 
shall  be  vilified  in  the  journals. 

"  And  who  has  thus  ruined  the  fortunes  of  our 
house,  that  promised  so  brilliantly?  You,  you  alone, 
Marquis. 

"  You  believe  in  nothing,  you  doubt  everything — 
you  are  cold,  sceptical,  disdainful,  blase.  But  a  pretty 
woman  makes  her  appearance  on  the  scene.  You  go 
wild  like  a  school-boy  and  are  ready  to  commit  any  act 
of  folly.  It  is  you  who  I  am  addressing,  Marquis.  Do 
you  hear  me  ?  Speak !  what  have  you  to  say  ?  " 

Martial  had  listened  to  this  tirade  with  unconcealed 
scorn,  and  without  even  attempting  to  interrupt  it. 

Now  he  responded,  slowly : 

"  I  think,  sir,  if  Mademoiselle  Lacheneur  had  any 
doubts  of  the  value  of  the  document  she  possesses,  she 
has  them  no  longer." 

This  response  fell  upon  the  duke's  wrath  like  a 
bucket  of  ice-water.  He  instantly  comprehended  his 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    283 

folly ;  and  frightened  by  his  own  words,  he  stood  stu- 
pefied with  astonishment. 

Without  deigning  to  add  another  word,  the  marquis 
turned  to  Marie- Anne. 

"  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  explain  what  is  required 
of  my  father  in  exchange  for  this  letter?  " 

"  The  life  and  liberty  of  Monsieur  d'Escorval." 

The  duke  started  as  if  he  had  received  an  electric 
shock. 

"  Ah !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  knew  they  would  ask 
something  that  was  impossible !  " 

He  sank  back  in  his  arm-chair.  A  profound  de- 
spair succeeded  his  frenzy.  He  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands,  evidently  seeking  some  expedient. 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  to  me  before  judgment  was 
pronounced  ?  "  he  murmured.  "  Then  I  could  have 
done  anything — now,  my  hands  are  bound.  The 
commission  has  spoken;  the  judgment  must  be 
executed " 

He  rose,  and  in  the  tone  of  a  man  who  is  resigned  to 
anything,  he  said : 

"  Decidedly.  I  should  risk  more  in  attempting  to 
save  the  baron  " — in  his  anxiety  he  gave  M.  d'Escorval 
his  title — "  a  thousand  times  more  than  I  have  to  fear 
from  my  enemies.  So,  Mademoiselle  " — he  no  longer 
said,  "  my  good  girl  " — "  you  can  utilize  your  docu- 
ment." 

The  duke  was  about  leaving  the  room,  but  Martial 
detained  him  by  a  gesture. 

"  Think  again  before  you  decide.  Our  situation  is 
not  without  a  precedent.  A  few  months  ago  the 
Count  de  Lavalette  was  condemned  to  death.  The 
King  wished  to  pardon  him,  but  his  ministers  and 
friends  opposed  it.  Though  the  King  was  master,  what 


284         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

did  he  do  ?  He  seemed  to  be  deaf  to  all  the  supplica- 
tions made  in  the  prisoner's  behalf.  The  scaffold  was 
erected,  and  yet  Lavalette  was  saved !  And  no  one 
was  compromised — yes,  a  jailer  lost  his  position ;  he 
is  living  on  his  income  now." 

Marie-Anne  caught  eagerly  at  the  idea  so  cleverly 
presented  by  Martial. 

"  Yes,"  she  exclaimed,  "  the  Count  de  Lavalette, 
protected  by  royal  connivance,  succeeded  in  making 
his  escape." 

The  simplicity  of  the  expedient — the  authority  of  the 
example — seemed  to  make  a  vivid  impression  upon  the 
duke.  He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  Marie-Anne 
fancied  she  saw  an  expression  of  relief  steal  over  his 
face. 

"  Such  an  attempt  would  be  very  hazardous,"  he 
murmured ;  "  yet,  with  care,  and  if  one  were  sure  that 
the  secret  would  be  kept " 

"  Oh !  the  secret  will  be  religiously  preserved,  Mon- 
sieur," interrupted  Marie-Anne. 

With  a  glance  Martial  recommended  silence;  then 
turning  to  his  father,  he  said : 

"  One  can  always  consider  an  expedient,  and  calcu- 
late the  consequences — that  does  not  bind  one.  When 
is  this  sentence  to  be  carried  into  execution  ?  " 

"  To-morrow,"  responded  the  duke. 

But  even  this  terrible  response  did  not  cause  Marie- 
Anne  any  alarm.  The  duke's  anxiety  and  terror  had 
taught  her  how  much  reason  she  had  to  hope ;  and 
she  saw  that  Martial  had  openly  espoused  her  cause. 

"  We  have,  then,  only  the  night  before  us,"  resumed 
the  marquis.  "  Fortunately,  it  is  only  half-past  seven, 
and  until  ten  o'clock  my  father  can  visit  the  citadel 
without  exciting  the  slightest  suspicion." 


285 

He  paused  suddenly.  His  eyes,  in  which  had  shone 
almost  absolute  confidence,  became  gloomy.  He  had 
just  discovered  an  unexpected  and,  as  it  seemed  to  him, 
almost  insurmountable  difficulty. 

"  Have  we  any  intelligent  men  in  the  citadel  ?  "  he 
murmured.  "  The  assistance  of  a  jailer  or  of  a  soldier 
is  indispensable." 

He  turned  to  his  father,  and  brusquely  asked : 
"  Have  you  any  man  in  whom  you  can  confide  ?  " 
"  I  have  three  or  four  spies — they  can  be  bought 


"  No !  the  wretch  who  betrays  his  comrade  for  a  few 
sous,  will  betray  you  for  a  few  louis.  We  must  have 
an  honest  man  who  sympathizes  with  the  opinions  of 
Baron  d'Escorval — an  old  soldier  who  fought  under 
Napoleon,  if  possible." 

A  sudden  inspiration  visited  Marie-Anne's  mind. 

"  I  know  the  man  that  you  require !  "  she  cried. 

"  You  ? " 

"  Yes,  I.     At  the  citadel." 

"  Take  care !  Remember  that  he  must  risk  much. 
If  this  should  be  discovered,  those  who  take  part  in  it 
will  be  sacrificed." 

"  He  of  whom  I  speak  is  the  man  you  need.  I  will 
be  responsible  for  him." 

"  And  he  is  a  soldier?  " 

"  He  is  only  an  humble  corporal ;  but  the  nobility 
of  his  nature  entitles  him  to  the  highest  rank:  Believe 
me,  we  can  safely  confide  in  him." 

If  she  spoke  thus,  she  who  would  willingly  have 
given  her  life  for  the  baron's  salvation,  she  must  be  ab- 
solutely certain. 

So  thought  Martial. 

"  I  will  confer  with  this  man,"  said  he.  "  What  is 
his  name?  " 


286         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  He  is  called  Bavois,  and  he  is  a  corporal  in  the  first 
company  of  grenadiers." 

"  Bavois,"  repeated  Martial,  as  if  to  fix  the  name  in 
his  memory ;  "  Bavois.  My  father  will  find  some  pre- 
text for  desiring  him  summoned." 

"  It  is  easy  to  find  a  pretext.  He  was  the  brave  sol- 
dier left  on  guard  at  Escorval  after  the  troops  left  the 
house." 

"  This  promises  well,"  said  Martial.  He  had  risen 
and  gone  to  the  fireplace  in  order  to  be  nearer  his 
father. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  continued,  "  the  baron  has  been  sep- 
arated from  the  other  prisoners  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  is  alone,  in  a  large  and  very  comfortable 
room." 

"  Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  On  the  second  story  of  the  corner  tower." 

But  Martial,  who  was  not  so  well  acquainted  with 
the  citadel  as  his  father,  was  obliged  to  reflect  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  The  corner  tower  !  "  said  he ;  "  is  not  that  the  tall 
tower  which  one  sees  from  a  distance,  and  which  is 
built  on  a  spot  where  the  rock  is  almost  perpendicu- 
lar ?  " 

"  Precisely." 

By  the  promptness  M.  de  Sairmeuse  displayed  in 
replying,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  he  was  ready  to  risk  a 
good  deal  to  effect  the  prisoner's  deliverance. 

"  What  kind  of  a  window  is  that  in  the  baron's 
room  ?  "  inquired  Martial. 

"  It  is  quite  large  and  furnished  with  a  double  row  of 
iron  bars,  securely  fastened  into  the  stone  walls." 

"  It  is  easy  enough  to  cut  these  bars.  On  which  side 
does  this  window  look  ?  " 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    287 

"  On  the  country." 

"  That  is  to  say,  it  overlooks  the  precipice.  The 
devil  !  That  is  a  serious  difficulty,  and  yet,  in  one  re- 
spect, it  is  an  advantage,  for  they  station  no  sentinels 
there,  do  they  ?  " 

"  Never.  Between  the  citadel  wall  and  the  edge  of 
the  precipice  there  is  barely  standing-room.  The  sol- 
diers do  not  venture  there  even  in  the  daytime." 

"  There  is  one  more  important  question.  What  is 
the  distance  from  Monsieur  d'Escorval's  window  to 
the  ground  ?  " 

"  It  is  about  forty  feet  from  the  base  of  the  tower." 

"  Good  !  And  from  the  base  of  the  tower  to  the 
foot  of  the  precipice — how  far  is  that  ?  " 

"  Really,  I  scarcely  know.  Sixty  feet,  at  least,  I 
should  think." 

"  Ah,  that  is  high,  terrible  high.  The  baron  fortu- 
nately is  still  agile  and  vigorous." 

The  duke  began  to  be  impatient. 

"  Now,"  said  he  to  his  son,  "  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to 
explain  your  plan  ?  " 

Martial  had  gradually  resumed  the  careless  tone 
which  always  exasperated  his  father. 

"  He  is  sure  of  success,"  thought  Marie-Anne. 

"  My  plan  is  simplicity  itself,"  replied  Martial. 
"  Sixty  and  forty  are  one  hundred.  It  is  necessary  to 
procure  one  hundred  feet  of  strong  rope.  It  will  make 
a  very  large  bundle ;  but  no  matter.  I  will  twist  it 
around  me,  envelop  myself  in  a  large  cloak,  and  ac- 
company you  to  the  citadel.  You  will  send  for  Cor- 
poral Bavois ;  you  will  leave  me  alone  with  him  in  a 
quiet  place ;  I  will  explain  our  wishes." 

M.  de  Sairmeuse  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  And  how  will  you  procure  a  hundred  feet  of  rope 


288         THE   HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

at  this  hour  in  Montaignac  ?  Will  you  go  about  from 
shop  to  shop?  You  might  as  well  trumpet  your  proj- 
ect at  once." 

"  I  shall  attempt  nothing  of  the  kind.  What  I  can- 
not do  the  friends  of  the  Escorval  family  will  do." 

The  duke  was  about  to  offer  some  new  objection 
when  his  son  interrupted  him. 

"  Pray  do  not  forget  the  danger  that  threatens  us," 
he  said,  earnestly,  "  nor  the  little  time  that  is  left  us.  I 
have  committed  a  fault,  leave  me  to  repair  it." 

And  turning  to  Marie- Anne : 

"  You  may  consider  the  baron  saved,"  he  pursued ; 
"  but  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  confer  with  one  of  his 
friends.  Return  at  once  to  the  Hotel  de  France  and 
tell  the  cure  to  meet  me  on  the  Place  d'Armes,  where 
I  go  to  await  him." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

Though  among  the  first  to  be  arrested  at  the  time  of 
the  panic  before  Montaignac,  the  Baron  d'Escorval  had 
not  for  an  instant  deluded  himself  with  false  hopes. 

"  I  am  a  lost  man,"  he  thought.  And  confronting 
death  calmly,  he  now  thought  only  of  the  danger  that 
threatened  his  son. 

His  mistake  before  the  judges  was  the  result  of  his 
preoccupation. 

He  did  not  breathe  freely  until  he  saw  Maurice  led 
from  the  hall  by  Abbe  Midon  and  the  friendly  officers, 
for  he  knew  that  his  son  would  try  to  confess  connec- 
tion with  the  affair. 

Then,  calm  and  composed,  with  head  erect,  and 
steadfast  eye,  he  listened  to  the  death-sentence. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    289 

In  the  confusion  that  ensued  in  removing  the  pris- 
oners from  the  hall,  the  baron  found  himself  beside 
Chanlouineau,  who  had  begun  his  noisy  lamentations. 

"  Courage,  my  boy,"  he  said,  indignant  at  such  ap- 
parent cowardice. , 

"  Ah  !  it  is  easy  to  talk,"  whined  the  young  farmer. 

Then  seeing  that  no  one  was  observing  them,  he 
leaned  toward  the  baron,  and  whispered : 

"  It  is  for  you  I  am  working.  Save  all  your  strength 
for  to-night." 

Chanlouineau's  words  and  burning  glance  surprised 
M.  d'Escorval,  but  he  attributed  both  to  fear.  When 
the  guards  took  him  back  to  his  cell,  he  threw  himself 
upon  his  pallet,  and  before  him  rose  that  vision  of  the 
last  hour,  which  is  at  once  the  hope  and  despair  of  those 
who  are  about  to  die. 

He  knew  the  terrible  laws  that  govern  a  court-mar- 
tial. The  next  day — in  a  few  hours — at  dawn,  perhaps, 
they  would  take  him  from  his  cell,  place  him  in  front 
of  a  squad  of  soldiers,  an  officer  would  lift  his  sword, 
and  all  would  be  over. 

Then  what  was  to  become  of  his  wife  and  his  son  ? 

His  agony  on  thinking  of  these  dear  ones  was  ter- 
rible. He  was  alone ;  he  wept. 

But  suddenly  he  started  up,  ashamed  of  his  weak- 
ness. He  must  not  allow  these  thoughts  to  unnerve 
him.  He  was  determined  to  meet  death  unflinchingly. 
Resolved  to  shake  off  the  profound  melancholy  that 
was  creeping  over  him,  he  walked  about  his  cell,  forc- 
ing his  mind  to  occupy  itself  with  material  objects. 

The  room  which  had  been  allotted  to  him  was  very 

large.    It  had  once  communicated  with  the  apartment 

adjoining ;  but  the  door  had  been  walled  up  for  a  long 

time.    The  cement  which  held  the  large  blocks  of  stone 

19 


290         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

together  had  crumbled  away,  leaving  crevices  through 
which  one  might  look  from  one  room  into  the  other. 

M.  d'Escorval  mechanically  applied  his  eye  to  one  of 
these  interstices.  Perhaps  he  had  a  friend  for  a  neigh- 
bor, some  wretched  man  who  was  to  share  his  fate. 
He  saw  no  one.  He  called,  first  in  a  whisper,  then 
louder.  No  voice  responded  to  his. 

"  If  I  could  only  tear  down  this  thin  partition,"  he 
thought. 

He  trembled,  then  shrugged  his  shoulders.  And  if 
he  did,  what  then  ?  He  would  only  find  himself  in  an- 
other apartment  similar  to  his  own,  and  opening  like 
his  upon  a  corridor  full  of  guards,  whose  monotonous 
tramp  he  could  plainly  hear  as  they  passed  to  and  fro. 

What  folly  to  think  of  escape !  He  knew  that  every 
possible  precaution  must  have  been  taken  to  guard 
against  it. 

Yes,  he  knew  this,  and  yet  he  could  not  refrain  from 
examining  his  window.  Two  rows  of  iron  bars  pro- 
tected it.  These  were  placed  in  such  a  way  that  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  put  out  his  head  and  see  how  far 
he  was  above  the  ground.  The  height,  however,  must 
be  considerable,  judging  from  the  extent  of  the  view. 

The  sun  was  setting;  and  through  the  violet  haze 
the  baron  could  discern  an  undulating  line  of  hills, 
whose  culminating  point  must  be  the  land  of  the  Reche. 

The  dark  masses  of  foliage  that  he  saw  on  the  right 
were  probably  the  forests  of  Sairmeuse.  On  the  left, 
he  divined  rather  than  saw,  nestling  between  the  hills, 
the  valley  of  the  Giselle  and  Escorval. 

Escorval,  that  lovely  retreat  where  he  had  known 
such  happiness,  where  he  had  hoped  to  die  the  calm 
and  serene  death  of  the  just. 

And  remembering  his  past  felicity,  and  thinking  of 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    291 

his  vanished  dreams,  his  eyes  once  more  filled  with 
tears.  But  he  quickly  dried  them  on  hearing  the  door 
of  his  cell  open. 

Two  soldiers  appeared. 

One  of  the  men  bore  a  torch,  the  other,  one  of  those 
long  baskets  divided  into  compartments  which  are 
used  in  carrying  meals  to  the  officers  on  guard. 

These  men  were  evidently  deeply  moved,  and  yet, 
obeying  a  sentiment  of  instinctive  delicacy,  they  af- 
fected a  sort  of  gayety. 

"  Here  is  your  dinner,  Monsieur,"  said  one  soldier ; 
"  it  ought  to  be  very  good,  for  it  comes  from  the  cuisine 
of  the  commander  of  the  citadel." 

M.  d'Escorval  smiled  sadly.  Some  attentions  on 
the  part  of  one's  jailer  have  a  sinister  significance. 
Still,  when  he  seated  himself  before  the  little  table 
which  they  prepared  for  him,  he  found  that  he  was 
really  hungry. 

He  ate  with  a  relish,  and  chatted  quite  cheerfully 
with  the  soldiers. 

"  Always  hope  for  the  best,  sir,"  said  one  of  these 
worthy  fellows.  "  Who  knows  ?  Stranger  things 
have  happened !  " 

When  the  baron  finished  his  repast,  he  asked  for  pen, 
ink,  and  paper.  They  brought  what  he  desired. 

He  found  himself  again  alone ;  but  his  conversation 
with  the  soldiers  had  been  of  service  to  him.  His 
weakness  had  passed  ;  his  sang-froid  had  returned ;  he 
would  now  reflect. 

He  was  surprised  that  he  had  heard  nothing  from 
Mme.  d'Escorval  and  from  Maurice. 

Could  it  be  that  they  had  been  refused  access  to  the 
prison  ?  No,  they  could  not  be  ;  he  could  not  imagine 
that  there  existed  men  sufficiently  cruel  to  prevent  a 


292 

doomed  man  from  pressing  to  his  heart,  in  a  last  em- 
brace, his  wife  and  his  son. 

Yet,  how  was  it  that  neither  the  baroness  nor  Mau- 
rice had  made  an  attempt  to  see  him !  Something 
must  have  prevented  them  from  doing  so.  What 
could  it  be  ? 

He  imagined  the  worst  misfortunes.  He  saw  his 
wife  writhing  in  agony,  perhaps  dead.  He  pictured 
Maurice,  wild  with  grief,  upon  his  knees  at  the  bedside 
of  his  mother. 

But  they  might  come  yet.  He  consulted  his  watch. 
It  marked  the  hour  of  seven. 

But  he  waited  in  vain.     No  one  came. 

He  took  up  his  pen,  and  was  about  to  write,  when 
he  heard  a  bustle  in  the  corridor  outside.  The  clink 
of  spurs  resounded  on  the  flags ;  he  heard  the  sharp 
clink  of  the  rifle  as  the  guard  presented  arms. 

Trembling,  the  baron  sprang  up,  saying : 

"  They  have  come  at  last !  " 

He  was  mistaken;  the  footsteps  died  away  in  the 
distance. 

"  A  round  of  inspection !  "  he  murmured. 

But  at  the  same  moment,  two  objects  thrown 
through  the  tiny  opening  in  the  door  of  his  cell  fell  on 
the  floor  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

M.  d'Escorval  caught  them  up.  Someone  had 
thrown  him  two  files. 

His  first  feeling  was  one  of  distrust.  He  knew  that 
there  were  jailers  who  left  no  means  untried  to  dis- 
honor their  prisoners  before  delivering  them  to  the 
executioner. 

Was  it  a  friend,  or  an  enemy,  that  had  given  him 
these  instruments  of  deliverance  and  of  liberty. 

Chanlouineau's  words  and  the  look  that  accompa- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    293 

nied  them  recurred  to  his  mind,  perplexing-  him  still 
more. 

He  was  standing-  with  knitted  brows,  turning  and 
returning  the  fine  and  well-tempered  files  in  his  hands, 
when  he  suddenly  perceived  upon  the  floor  a  tiny 
scrap  of  paper  which  had,  at  first,  escaped  his  notice. 

He  snatched  it  up,  unfolded  it,  and  read : 

"  Your  friends  are  at  work.  Everything  is  prepared 
for  your  escape.  Make  haste  and  saw  the  bars  of  your 
window.  Maurice  and  his  mother  embrace  you. 
Hope,  courage !  " 

Beneath  these  few  lines  was  the  letter  M. 

But  the  baron  did  not  need  this  initial  to  be  reas- 
sured. He  had  recognized  Abbe  Midon's  handwrit- 
ing. 

"  Ah !  he  is  a  true  friend,"  he  murmured. 

Then  the  recollection  of  his  doubts  and  despair  arose 
in  his  mind. 

"  This  explains  why  neither  my  wife  nor  son  came  to 
visit  me,"  he  thought.  "  And  I  doubted  their  energy 
— and  I  was  complaining  of  their  neglect !  " 

Intense  joy  filled  his  breast ;  he  raised  the  letter  that 
promised  him  life  and  liberty  to  his  lips,  and  enthusi- 
astically exclaimed: 

"  To  work !  to  work !  " 

He  had  chosen  the  finest  of  the  two  files,  and  was 
about  to  attack  the  ponderous  bars,  when  he  fancied 
he  heard  someone  open  the  door  of  the  next  room. 

Someone  had  opened  it,  certainly.  The  person 
closed  it  again,  but  did  not  lock  it. 

Then  the  baron  heard  someone  moving  cautiously 
about.  What  did  all  this  mean?  Were  they  incar- 
cerating some  new  prisoner,  or  were  they  stationing  a 
spy  there? 


294         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

Listening  breathlessly,  the  baron  heard  a  singular 
sound,  whose  cause  it  was  absolutely  impossible  to  ex- 
plain. 

Noiselessly  he  advanced  to  the  former  communicat- 
ing door,  knelt,  and  peered  through  one  of  the  inter- 
stices. 

The  sight  that  met  his  eyes  amazed  him. 

A  man  was  standing  in  a  corner  of  the  room.  The 
baron  could  see  the  lower  part  of  the  man's  body  by 
the  light  of  a  large  lantern  which  he  had  deposited  on 
the  floor  at  his  feet.  He  was  turning  around  and 
around  very  quickly,  by  this  movement  unwinding  a 
long  rope  which  had  been  twined  around  his  body  as 
thread  is  wound  about  a  bobbin. 

M.  d'Escorval  rubbed  his  eyes  as  if  to  assure  himself 
that  he  was  not  dreaming.  Evidently  this  rope  was 
intended  for  him.  It  was  to  be  attached  to  the  broken 
bars. 

But  how  had  this  man  succeeded  in  gaining  admis- 
sion to  this  room  ?  Who  could  it  be  that  enjoyed  such 
liberty  in  the  prison?  He  was  not  a  soldier — or,  at 
least,  he  did  not  wear  a  uniform. 

Unfortunately,  the  highest  crevice  was  in  such  a 
place  that  the  visual  ray  did  not  strike  the  upper  part 
of  the  man's  body ;  and,  despite  the  baron's  efforts,  he 
was  unable  to  see  the  face  of  this  friend — he  judged  him 
to  be  such — whose  boldness  verged  on  folly. 

Unable  to  resist  his  intense  curiosity,  M.  d'Escorval 
was  on  the  point  of  rapping  on  the  wall  to  question 
him,  when  the  door  of  the  room  occupied  by  this  man. 
whom  the  baron  already  called  his  saviour,  was  impet- 
uously thrown  open. 

Another  man  entered,  whose  face  was  also  outside 
the  baron's  range  of  vision ;  and  the  new-comer,  in  a 
tone  of  astonishment,  exclaimed : 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    295 

"  Good  heavens!   what  are  you  doing?  " 

The  baron  drew  back  in  despair. 

"  All  is  discovered !  "  he  thought. 

The  man  whom  M.  d'Escorval  believed  to  be  his 
friend  did  not  pause  in  his  labor  of  unwinding  the  rope, 
and  it  was  in  the  most  tranquil  voice  that  he  responded : 

"  As  you  see,  I  am  freeing  myself  from  this  burden 
of  rope,  which  I  find  extremely  uncomfortable.  There 
are  at  least  sixty  yards  of  it,  I  should  think — and  what 
a  bundle  it  makes !  I  feared  they  would  discover  it 
under  my  cloak." 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  all  this  rope  ?  " 
inquired  the  new-comer. 

"  I  am  going  to  hand  it  to  Baron  d'Escorval,  to 
whom  I  have  already  given  a  file.  He  must  make  his 
escape  to-night." 

So  improbable  was  this  scene  that  the  baron  could 
not  believe  his  own  ears. 

"  I  cannot  be  awake ;  I  must  be  dreaming,"  he 
thought. 

The  new-comer  uttered  a  terrible  oath,  and,  in  an  al- 
most threatening  tone,  he  said : 

"  We  will  see  about  that !  If  you  have  gone  mad,  I, 
thank  God  !  still  possess  my  reason !  I  will  not  per- 
mit  " 

"  Pardon !  "  interrupted  the  other,  coldly,  "  you  will 
permit  it.  This  is  merely  the  result  of  your  own — 
credulity.  When  Chanlouineau  asked  you  to  allow 
him  to  receive  a  visit  from  Mademoiselle  Lacheneur, 
that  was  the  time  you  should  have  said :  '  I  will  not  per- 
mit it.'  Do  you  know  what  the  fellow  desired  ?  Sim- 
ply to  give  Mademoiselle  Lacheneur  a  letter  of  mine, 
so  compromising  in  its  nature,  that  if  it  ever  reaches 
the  hands  of  a  certain  person  of  my  acquaintance,  my 


296         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

father  and  I  will  be  obliged  to  reside  in  London  in 
future.  Then  farewell  to  the  projects  for  an  alliance 
between  our  two  families  !  " 

The  new-comer  heaved  a  mighty  sigh,  accompanied 
by  a  half-angry,  half-sorrowful  exclamation ;  but  the 
other,  without  giving  him  any  opportunity  to  reply,  re- 
sumed : 

"  You,  yourself,  Marquis,  would  doubtless  be  com- 
promised. Were  you  not  a  chamberlain  during  the 
reign  of  Bonaparte  ?  Ah,  Marquis !  how  could  a  man 
of  your  experience,  a  man  so  subtle,  and  penetrating, 
and  acute,  allow  himself  to  be  duped  by  a  low,  igno- 
rant peasant  ?  " 

Now  M.  d'Escorval  understood.  He  was  not 
dreaming;  it  was  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  and 
Martial  de  Sairmeuse  who  were  talking  on  the  other 
side  of  the  wall. 

This  poor  M.  de  Courtornieu  had  been  so  entirely 
crushed  by  Martial's  revelation  that  he  no  longer  made 
any  effort  to  oppose  him. 

"  And  this  terrible  letter  ?  "  he  groaned. 

"  Marie-Anne  Lacheneur  gave  it  to  Abbe  Midon, 
who  came  to  me  and  said :  '  Either  the  baron  will  es- 
cape, or  this  letter  will  be  taken  to  the  Due  de  Riche- 
lieu.' I  voted  for  the  baron's  escape,  I  assure  you. 
The  abbe  procured  all  that  was  necessary ;  he  met  me 
at  a  rendezvous  which  I  appointed  in  a  quiet  spot ;  he 
coiled  all  his  rope  about  my  body,  and  here  I  am." 

"  Then  you  think  if  the  baron  escapes  they  will  give 
you  back  your  letter?  " 

"  Most  assuredly." 

"  Deluded  man !  As  soon  as  the  baron  is  safe,  they 
will  demand  the  life  of  another  prisoner,  with  the  same 
menaces." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME         297 

"  By  no  means." 

"  You  will  see." 

"  I  shall  see  nothing  of  the  kind,  for  a  very  simple 
reason.  I  have  the  letter  now  in  my  pocket.  The 
abbe  gave  it  to  me  in  exchange  for  my  word  of  honor." 

M.  de  Courtornieu's  exclamation  proved  that  he  con- 
sidered the  abbe  an  egregious  fool. 

"  What !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  hold  the  proof, 
and —  But  this  is  madness !  Burn  this  accursed 
letter  by  the  flames  of  this  lantern,  and  let  the  baron 
go  where  his  slumbers  will  be  undisturbed." 

Martial's  silence  betrayed  something  like  stupor. 

"  What !  you  would  do  this — you  ?  "  he  demanded, 
at  last. 

"  Certainly — and  without  the  slightest  hesitation." 

"  Ah,  well !     I  cannot  say  that  I  congratulate  you." 

The  sneer  was  so  apparent  that  M.  de  Courtornieu 
was  sorely  tempted  to  make  an  angry  response.  But 
he  was  not  a  man  to  yield  to  his  first  impulse — this 
former  chamberlain  under  the  Emperor,  now  become  a 
grand  prevot  under  the  Restoration. 

He  reflected.  Should  he,  on  account  of  a  sharp 
word,  quarrel  with  Martial — with  the  only  suitor  who 
had  pleased  his  daughter  ?  A  rupture — then  he  would 
be  left  without  any  prospect  of  a  son-in-law !  When 
would  Heaven  send  him  such  another?  And  how 
furious  Mile.  Blanche  would  be ! 

He  concluded  to  swallow  the  bitter  pill ;  and  it  was 
with  a  paternal  indulgence  of  manner  that  he  said : 

"  You  are  young,  my  dear  Martial." 

The  baron  was  still  kneeling  by  the  partition,  his  ear 
glued  to  the  crevices,  holding  his  breath  in  an  agony  of 
suspense. 

"  You  are   only   twenty,   my   dear   Martial,"   pur- 


298         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

sued  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu ;  "  you  possess  the 
ardent  enthusiasm  and  generosity  of  youth.  Complete 
your  undertaking ;  I  shall  interpose  no  obstacle ;  but 
remember  that  all  may  be  discovered — and  then — 

"  Have  no  fears,  sir,"  interrupted  the  young  mar- 
quis ;  "  I  have  taken  every  precaution.  Did  you  see  a 
single  soldier  in  the  corridor,  just  now?  No.  That 
is  because  my  father  has,  at  my  solicitation,  assembled 
all  the  officers  and  guards  under  pretext  of  ordering 
exceptional  precautions.  He  is  talking  to  them  now. 
This  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  come  here  unobserved. 
No  one  will  see  me  when  I  go  out.  Who,  then,  will 
dare  suspect  me  of  having  any  hand  in  the  baron's  es- 
cape ?  " 

"  If  the  baron  escapes,  justice  will  demand  to  know 
who  aided  him." 

Martial  laughed. 

"  If  justice  seeks  to  know,  she  will  find  a  culprit  of 
my  providing.  Go  now ;  I  have  told  you  all.  I  had 
but  one  person  to  fear:  that  was  yourself.  A  trusty 
messenger  requested  you  to  join  me  here.  You  came ; 
you  know  all,  you  have  agreed  to  remain  neutral.  I 
am  tranquil.  The  baron  will  be  safe  in  Piedmont 
when  the  sun  rises." 

He  picked  up  his  lantern,  and  added,  gayly : 

"  But  let  us  go — my  father  cannot  harangue  those 
soldiers  forever." 

"  But,"  insisted  M.  de  Courtornieu,  "  you  have  not 
told  me " 

"  I  will  tell  you  all,  but  not  here.     Come,  come !  " 

They  went  out,  locking  the  door  behind  them ;  and 
then  the  baron  rose  from  his  knees. 

All  sorts  of  contradictory  ideas,  doubts,  and  conject- 
ures filled  his  mind. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    299 

What  could  this  letter  have  contained?  Why  had 
not  Chanlouineau  used  it  to  procure  his  own  salvation  ? 
Who  would  have  believed  that  Martial  woiild  be  so 
faithful  to  a  promise  wrested  from  him  by  threats  ? 

But  this  was  a  time  for  action,  not  for  reflection. 
The  bars  were  heavy,  and  there  were  two  rows  of  them. 

M.  d'Escorval  set  to  work. 

He  had  supposed  that  the  task  would  be  difficult. 
It  was  a  thousand  times  more  so  than  he  had  expected ; 
he  discovered  this  almost  immediately. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  worked  with  a 
file,  and  he  did  not  know  how  to  use  it.  His  progress 
was  despairingly  slow. 

Nor  was  that  all.  Though  he  worked  as  cautiously 
as  possible,  each  movement  of  the  instrument  across 
the  iron  produced  a  harsh,  grating  sound  that  froze  his 
blood  with  terror.  What  if  someone  should  overhear 
this  noise  ?  And  it  seemed  to  him  impossible  for  it  to 
escape  notice,  since  he  could  plainly  distinguish  the 
measured  tread  of  the  guards,  who  had  resumed  their 
watch  in  the  corridor. 

So  slight  was  the  result  of  his  labors,  that  at  the  end 
of  twenty  minutes  he  experienced  a  feeling  of  profound 
discouragement. 

At  this  rate,  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  sever 
the  first  bar  before  daybreak.  What,  then,  was  the  use 
of  spending  his  time  in  fruitless  labor  ?  Why  mar  the 
dignity  of  death  by  the  disgrace  of  an  unsuccessful  ef- 
fort to  escape? 

He  was  hesitating  when  footsteps  approached  his 
cell.  He  hastened  to  seat  himself  at  the  table. 

The  door  opened  and  a  soldier  entered,  to  whom  an 
officer  who  did  not  cross  the  threshold  remarked : 

"  You  have  your  instructions,  Corporal,  keep  a  close 
watch.  If  the  prisoner  needs  anything,  call." 


300         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

M.  de  Escorval's  heart  throbbed  almost  to  bursting. 
What  was  coming  now  ? 

Had  M.  de  Courtornieu's  counsels  carried  the  day, 
or  had  Martial  sent  someone  to  aid  him  ? 

"  We  must  not  be  dawdling  here,"  said  the  corporal, 
as  soon  as  the  door  was  closed. 

M.  d'Escorval  bounded  from  his  chair.  This  man 
was  a  friend.  Here  was  aid  and  life. 

"  I  am  Bavois,"  continued  the  corporal.  "  Some- 
one said  to  me  just  now :  '  A  friend  of  the  Emperor  is 
in  danger;  are  you  willing  to  lend  him  a  helping 
hand  ?  '  I  replied :  '  Present/  and  here  I  am  !  " 

This  certainly  was  a  brave  soul.  The  baron  ex- 
tended his  hand,  and  in  a  voice  trembling  with  emo- 
tion: 

"  Thanks,"  said  he ;  "  thanks  to  you  who,  without 
knowing  me,  expose  yourself  to  the  greatest  danger 
for  my  sake." 

Bavois  shrugged  his  shoulders  disdainfully. 

"  Positively,  my  old  hide  is  no  more  precious  than 
yours.  If  we  do  not  succeed,  they  will  chop  off  our 
heads  with  the  same  axe.  But  we  shall  succeed. 
Now,  let  us  cease  talking  and  proceed  to  business." 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  from  beneath  his  long  over- 
coat a  strong  iron  crowbar  and  a  small  vial  of  brandy, 
and  deposited  them  upon  the  bed. 

He  then  took  the  candle  and  passed  it  back  and  forth 
before  the  window  five  or  six  times. 

"  What  are  you  doing?  "  inquired  the  baron,  in  sus- 
pense. 

"  I  am  signalling  to  your  friends  that  everything  is 
progressing  favorably.  They  are  down  there  waiting 
for  us;  and  see,  now  they  are  answering." 

The  baron  looked,  and  three  times  they  saw  a  little 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    301 

flash  of  flame  like  that  produced  by  the  burning  of  a 
pinch  of  gunpowder. 

"  Now,"  said  the  corporal,  "  we  are  all  right.  Let 
us  see  what  progress  you  have  made  with  the  bars." 

"  I  have  scarcely  begun,"  murmured  M.  d'Escorval. 

The  corporal  inspected  the  work. 

"  You  may  indeed  say  that  you  have  made  no  prog- 
ress," said  he ;  "  but,  never  mind,  I  have  been  a  lock- 
smith, and  I  know  how  to  handle  a  file." 

Having  drawn  the  cork  from  the  vial  of  brandy 
which  he  had  brought,  he  fastened  the  stopper  to  the 
end  of  one  of  the  files,  and  swathed  the  handle  of  the 
instrument  with  a  piece  of  damp  linen. 

"  That  is  what  they  call  putting  a  stop  on  the  instru- 
ment," he  remarked,  by  way  of  explanation. 

Then  he  made  an  energetic  attack  on  the  bars.  It 
at  once  became  evident  that  he  had  not  exaggerated 
his  knowledge  of  the  subject,  nor  the  efficacy  of  his  pre- 
cautions for  deadening  the  sound.  The  harsh  grating 
that  had  so  alarmed  the  baron  was  no  longer  heard, 
and  Bavois,  finding  he  had  nothing  more  to  dread 
from  the  keenest  ears,  now  made  preparations  to  shel- 
ter himself  from  observation. 

To  cover  the  opening  in  the  door  would  arouse  sus- 
picion at  once — so  the  corporal  adopted  another  ex- 
pedient. 

Moving  the  little  table  to  another  part  of  the  room, 
he  placed  the  light  upon  it,  in  such  a  position  that  the 
window  remained  entirely  in  shadow. 

Then  he  ordered  the  baron  to  sit  down,  and  handing 
him  a  paper,  said : 

"  Now  read  aloud,  without  stopping  for  an  instant, 
until  you  see  me  cease  work." 

By  this  method  they  might  reasonably  hope  to  de- 


302         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

ceive  the  guards  outside  in  the  corridor.  Some  of 
them,  indeed,  did  come  to  the  door  and  look  in,  then 
went  away  to  say  to  their  companions : 

"  We  have  just  taken  a  look  at  the  prisoner.  He  is 
very  pale,  and  his  eyes  are  glittering  feverishly.  He  is 
reading  aloud  to  divert  his  mind.  Corporal  Bavois  is 
looking  out  of  the  window.  It  must  be  dull  music  for 
him." 

The  baron's  voice  would  also  be  of  advantage  in 
overpowering  any  suspicious  sound,  should  there  be 
one. 

And  while  Bavois  worked,  M.  d'Escorval  read,  read, 
read. 

He  had  completed  the  perusal  of  the  entire  paper, 
and  was  about  to  begin  it  again,  when  the  old  soldier, 
leaving  the  window,  motioned  him  to  stop. 

"  Half  the  task  is  completed,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper. 
"  The  lower  bars  are  cut." 

"  Ah  !  how  can  I  ever  repay  you  for  your  devotion  !  " 
murmured  the  baron. 

"  Hush  !  not  a  word  !  "  interrupted  Bavois.  "  If  I 
escape  with  you,  I  can  never  return  here ;  and  I  shall 
not  know  where  to  go,  for  the  regiment,  you  see,  is  my 
only  family.  Ah,  well !  if  you  will  give  me  a  home 
with  you,  I  shall  be  content." 

Whereupon  he  swallowed  a  big  draught  of  brandy, 
and  set  to  work  with  renewed  ardor. 

The  corporal  had  cut  one  of  the  second  row  of  bars, 
when  he  was  interrupted  by  M.  d'Escorval,  who,  with- 
out discontinuing  his  reading,  had  approached  and 
pulled  Bavois's  long  coat  to  attract  his  attention. 

He  turned  quickly. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I  heard  a  singular  noise." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    303 

"Where?" 

"  In  the  adjoining  room  where  the  ropes  are." 

Honest  Bavois  muttered  a  terrible  oath. 

"  Do  they  intend  to  betray  us  ?  I  risked  my  life,  and 
they  promised  me  fair  play." 

He  placed  his  ear  against  an  opening  in  the  partition, 
and  listened  for  a  long  time.  Nothing,  not  the  slight- 
est sound. 

"  It  must  have  been  some  rat  that  you  heard,"  he 
said,  at  last.  "  Resume  your  reading." 

And  he  began  his  work  again.  This  was  the  only 
interruption,  and  a  little  before  four  o'clock  everything 
was  ready.  The  bars  were  cut,  and  the  ropes,  which 
had  been  drawn  through  an  opening  in  the  wall,  were 
coiled  under  the  window. 

The  decisive  moment  had  come.  Bavois  took  the 
counterpane  from  the  bed,  fastened  it  over  the  opening 
in  the  door,  and  filled  up  the  key-hole. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  in  the  same  measured  tone  which 
he  would  have  used  in  instructing  his  recruits,  "  atten- 
tion, sir,  and  obey  the  word  of  command." 

Then  he  calmly  explained  that  the  escape  would 
consist  of  two  distinct  operations ;  the  first  in  gaining 
the  narrow  platform  at  the  base  of  the  tower ;  the  sec- 
ond, in  descending  to  the  foot  of  the  precipitous  rock. 

The  abbe,  who  understood  this,  had  brought  Martial 
two  ropes ;  the  one  to  be  used  in  the  descent  of  the 
precipice  being  considerably  longer  than  the  other. 

"  I  will  fasten  the  shortest  rope  under  your  arms, 
Monsieur,  and  I  will  let  you  down  to  the  base  of  the 
tower.  When  you  have  reached  it,  I  will  pass  you  the 
longer  rope  and  the  crowbar.  Do  not  miss  them.  If 
we  find  ourselves  without  them,  on  that  narrow  ledge 
of  rock,  we  shall  either  be  compelled  to  deliver  our- 


3o4         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

selves  up,  or  throw  ourselves  down  the  precipice.  I 
shall  not  be  long  in  joining  you.  Are  you  ready?  " 

M.  d'Escorval  lifted  his  arms,  the  rope  was  fastened 
securely  about  him,  and  he  crawled  through  the  win- 
dow. 

From  there  the  height  seemed  immense.  Below,  in 
the  barren  fields  that  surrounded  the  citadel,  eight  per- 
sons were  waiting,  silent,  anxious,  breathless. 

They  were  Mme.  d'Escorval  and  Maurice,  Marie- 
Anne,  Abbe  Midon,  and  the  four  retired  army  officers. 

There  was  no  moon ;  but  the  night  was  very  clear, 
and  they  could  see  the  tower  quite  plainly. 

Soon  after  four  o'clock  sounded  they  saw  a  dark  ob- 
ject glide  slowly  down  the  side  of  the  tower — it  was 
the  baron.  After  a  little,  another  form  followed  very 
rapidly — it  was  Bavois. 

Half  of  the  perilous  journey  was  accomplished. 

From  below,  they  could  see  the  two  figures  moving 
about  on  the  narrow  platform.  The  corporal  and  the 
baron  were  exerting  all  their  strength  to  fix  the  crow- 
bar securely  in  a  crevice  of  the  rock. 

In  a  moment  or  two  one  of  the  figures  stepped  from 
the  projecting  rock  and  glided  gently  down  the  side  of 
the  precipice. 

It  could  be  none  other  than  M.  d'Escorval.  Trans- 
ported with  happiness,  his  wife  sprang  forward  with 
open  arms  to  receive  him. 

Wretched  woman  !  A  terrific  cry  rent  the  still  night 
air. 

M.  d'Escorval  was  falling  from  a  height  of  fifty  feet ; 
he  was  hurled  down  to  the  foot  of  the  rocky  precipice. 
The  rope  had  parted. 

Had  it  broken  naturally? 

Maurice,  who  examined  the  end  of  it,  exclaimed  with 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    305 

horrible  imprecations  of  hatred  and  vengeance  that 
they  had  been  betrayed — that  their  enemy  had  ar- 
ranged to  deliver  only  a  dead  body  into  their  hands — 
that  the  rope,  in  short,  had  been  foully  tampered  with — 
cut! 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

Chupin  had  not  taken  time  to  sleep,  nor  scarcely 
time  to  drink,  since  that  unfortunate  morning  when 
the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  ordered  affixed  to  the  walls  of 
Montaignac,  that  decree  in  which  he  promised  twenty 
thousand  francs  to  the  person  who  should  deliver  up 
Lacheneur,  dead  or  alive. 

"  Twenty  thousand  francs,"  Chupin  muttered 
gloomily ;  "  twenty  sacks  with  a  hundred  pistoles  in 
each !  Ah  !  if  I  could  discover  Lacheneur ;  even  if  he 
were  dead  and  buried  a  hundred  feet  under  ground,  I 
should  gain  the  reward." 

The  appellation  of  traitor,  which  he  would  receive ; 
the  shame  and  condemnation  that  would  fall  upon  him 
and  his,  did  not  make  him  hesitate  for  a  moment. 

He  saw  but  one  thing — the  reward — the  blood- 
money. 

Unfortunately,  he  had  nothing  whatever  to  guide 
him  in  his  researches  ;  no  clew,  however  vague. 

All  that  was  known  in  Montaignac  was  that  M. 
Lacheneur's  horse  was  killed  at  the  Croix  d'Arcy. 

But  no  one  knew  whether  Lacheneur  himself  had 
been  wounded,  or  whether  he  had  escaped  from  the 
fray  uninjured.  Had  he  reached  the  frontier?  or  had 
he  found  an  asylum  in  the  house  of  one  of  his  friends  ? 

Chupin  was  thus  hungering  for  the  price  of  blood, 
when,  on  the  day  of  the  trial,  as  he  was  returning  from 


3o6         THE  HONOR  OF   THE   NAME 

the  citadel,  after  making  his  deposition,  he  entered  a 
drinking  saloon.  While  there  he  heard  the  name  of 
Lacheneur  uttered  in  low  tones  near  him. 

Two  peasants  were  emptying  a  bottle  of  wine,  and 
one  of  them,  an  old  man,  was  telling  the  other  that  he 
had  come  to  Montaignac  to  give  Mile.  Lacheneur  news 
of  her  father. 

He  said  that  his  son-in-law  had  met  the  chief  con- 
spirator in  the  mountains  which  separate  the  arron- 
dissement  of  Montaignac  from  Savoy.  He  even  men- 
tioned the  exact  place  of  meeting,  which  was  near 
Saint  Pavin-des-Gottes,  a  tiny  village  of  only  a  few 
houses. 

Certainly  the  worthy  man  did  not  think  he  was  com- 
mitting a  dangerous  indiscretion.  In  his  opinion, 
Lacheneur  had,  ere  this,  crossed  the  frontier,  and  was 
out  of  danger. 

In  this  he  was  mistaken. 

The  frontier  bordering  on  Savoy  was  guarded  by 
soldiers,  who  had  received  orders  to  allow  none  of  the 
conspirators  to  pass. 

The  passage  of  the  frontier,  then,  presented  many 
great  difficulties,  and  even  if  a  man  succeeded  in  effect- 
ing it,  he  might  be  arrested  and  imprisoned  on  the 
other  side,  until  the  formalities  of  extradition  had  been 
complied  with. 

Chupin  saw  his  advantage,  and  instantly  decided  on 
his  course. 

He  knew  that  he  had  not  a  moment  to  lose.  He 
threw  a  coin  down  upon  the  counter,  and  without 
waiting  for  his  change,  rushed  back  to  the  citadel,  and 
asked  the  sergeant  at  the  gate  for  pen  and  paper. 

The  old  rascal  generally  wrote  slowly  and  painfully ; 
to-day  it  took  him  but  a  moment  to  trace  these  lines : 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    307 

"  I  know  Lacheneur's  retreat,  and  beg  monseigneur 
to  order  some  mounted  soldiers  to  accompany  me,  in 
order  to  capture  him.  CHUPIN." 

This  note  was  given  to  one  of  the  guards,  with  a  re- 
quest to  take  it  to  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse,  who  was 
presiding  over  the  military  commission. 

Five  minutes  later,  the  soldier  reappeared  with  the 
same  note. 

Upon  the  margin  the  duke  had  written  an  order, 
placing  at  Chupin's  disposal  a  lieutenant  and  eight 
men  chosen  from  the  Montaignac  chasseurs,  who 
could  be  relied  upon,  and  who  were  not  suspected  (as 
were  the  other  troops)  of  sympathizing  with  the  rebels. 

Chupin  also  requested  a  horse  for  his  own  use,  and 
this  was  accorded  him.  The  duke  had  just  received 
this  note  when,  with  a  triumphant  air,  he  abruptly  en- 
tered the  room  where  Marie-Anne  and  his  son  were  ne- 
gotiating for  the  release  of  Baron  d'Escorval. 

It  was  because  he  believed  in  the  truth  of  the  rather 
hazardous  assertion  made  by  his  spy  that  he  exclaimed, 
upon  the  threshold : 

"  Upon  my  word !  it  must  be  confessed  that  this 
Chupin  is  an  incomparable  huntsman!  Thanks  to 
him " 

Then  he  saw  Mile.  Lacheneur,  and  suddenly  checked 
himself. 

Unfortunately,  neither  Martial  nor  Marie-Anne 
were  in  a  state  of  mind  to  notice  this  remark  and  its 
interruption. 

Had  he  been  questioned,  the  duke  would  probably 
have  allowed  the  truth  to  escape  him,  and  M.  Lache- 
neur might  have  been  saved. 

But  Lacheneur  was  one  of  those  unfortunate  beings 


3o8         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

who  seem  to  be  pursued  by  an  evil  destiny  which  they 
can  never  escape. 

Buried  beneath  his  horse,  M.  Lacheneur  had  lost 
consciousness. 

When  he  regained  his  senses,  restored  by  the  fresh 
morning  air,  the  place  was  silent  and  deserted.  Not 
far  from  him,  he  saw  two  dead  bodies  which  had  not 
yet  been  removed. 

It  was  a  terrible  moment,  and  in  the  depth  of  his 
soul  he  cursed  death,  which  had  refused  to  heed  his 
entreaties.  Had  he  been  armed,  doubtless,  he  would 
have  ended  by  suicide,  the  most  cruel  mental  torture 
which  man  was  ever  forced  to  endure — but  he  had  no 
weapon. 

He  was  obliged  to  accept  the  chastisement  of  life. 

Perhaps,  too,  the  voice  of  honor  whispered  that  it 
was  cowardice  to  strive  to  escape  the  responsibility 
of  one's  acts  by  death. 

At  last,  he  endeavored  to  draw  himself  out  from  be- 
neath the  body  of  his  horse. 

This  proved  to  be  no  easy  matter,  as  his  foot  was  still 
in  the  stirrup,  and  his  limbs  were  so  badly  cramped 
that  he  could  scarcely  move  them.  He  finally  suc- 
ceeded in  freeing  himself,  however,  and,  on  examina- 
tion, discovered  that  he,  who  it  would  seem  ought  to 
have  been  killed  ten  times  over,  had  only  one  hurt — a 
bayonet-wound  in  the  leg,  extending  from  the  ankle 
almost  to  the  knee. 

Such  a  wound,  of  course,  caused  him  not  a  little  suf- 
fering, and  he  was  trying  to  bandage  it  with  his  hand- 
kerchief, when  he  heard  the  sound  of  approaching 
footsteps. 

He  had  no  time  for  reflection ;  he  sprang  into  the 
forest  that  lies  to  the  left  of  the  Croix  d'Arcy. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    309 

The  troops  were  returning  to  Montaignac  after  pur- 
suing the  rebels  for  more  than  three  miles.  There 
were  about  two  hundred  soldiers,  and  they  were  bring- 
ing back,  as  prisoners,  about  twenty  peasants. 

Hidden  by  a  great  oak  scarcely  fifteen  paces  from  the 
road,  Lacheneur  recognized  several  of  the  prisoners  in 
the  gray  light  of  dawn.  It  was  only  by  the  merest 
chance  that  he  escaped  discovery;  and  he  fully  real- 
ized how  difficult  it  would  be  for  him  to  gain  the  fron- 
tier without  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  detachment  of 
soldiery,  who  were  doubtless  scouring  the  country  in 
every  direction. 

Still  he  did  not  despair. 

The  mountains  lay  only  two  leagues  away ;  and  he 
firmly  believed  that  he  could  successfully  elude  his  pur- 
suers as  soon  as  he  gained  the  shelter  of  the  hills. 

He  began  his  journey  courageously. 

Alas !  he  had  not  realized  how  exhausted  he  had  be- 
come from  the  excessive  labor  and  excitement  of  the 
past  few  days,  and  by  the  loss  of  blood  from  his  wound, 
which  he  could  not  stanch. 

He  tore  up  a  pole  in  one  of  the  vineyards  to  serve  as 
a  staff,  and  dragged  himself  along,  keeping  in  the  shel- 
ter of  the  woods  as  much  as  possible,  and  creeping 
along  beside  the  hedges  and  in  the  ditches  when  he  was 
obliged  to  traverse  an  open  space. 

To  the  great  physical  suffering,  and  the  most  cYuel 
mental  anguish,  was  now  added  an  agony  that  mo- 
mentarily increased — hunger. 

He  had  eaten  nothing  for  thirty  hours,  and  he  felt 
terribly  weak  from  lack  of  nourishment.  This  torture 
soon  became  so  intolerable  that  he  was  willing  to  brave 
anything  to  appease  it. 

At  last  he  perceived  the  roofs  of  a  tiny  hamlet.    He 


3io         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

decided  to  enter  it  and  ask  for  food.  He  was  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  village,  when  he  heard  the  rolling  of  a 
drum.  Instinctively  he  hid  behind  a  wall.  But  it  was 
only  a  town-crier  beating  his  drum  to  call  the  people 
together. 

And  soon  a  voice  rose  so  clear  and  penetrating  that 
each  word  it  uttered  fell  distinctly  on  Lacheneur's  ears. 

It  said : 

"  This  is  to  inform  you  that  the  authorities  of  Mon- 
taignac  promise  to  give  a  reward  of  twenty  thousand 
francs — two  thousand  pistoles,  you  understand — to 
him  who  will  deliver  up  the  man  known  as  Lacheneur, 
dead  or  alive.  Dead  or  alive,  you  understand.  If  he 
is  dead,  the  compensation  will  be  the  same;  twenty 
thousand  francs !  It  will  be  paid  in  gold." 

With  a  bound,  Lacheneur  had  risen,  wild  with  de- 
spair and  horror.  Though  he  had  believed  himself 
utterly  exhausted,  he  found  superhuman  strength  to 
flee. 

A  price  had  been  set  upon  his  head.  This  frightful 
thought  awakened  in  his  breast  the  frenzy  that  renders 
a  hunted  wild  beast  so  dangerous. 

In  all  the  villages  around  him  he  fancied  he  could 
hear  the  rolling  of  drums,  and  the  voice  of  the  crier 
proclaiming  this  infamous  edict. 

Go  where  he  would  now,  he  was  a  tempting  bait  of- 
fered to  treason  and  cupidity.  In  what  human  creat- 
ure could  he  confide  ?  Under  what  roof  could  he  ask 
shelter? 

And  even  if  he  were  dead,  he  would  still  be  worth  a 
fortune. 

Though  he  died  from  lack  of  nourishment  and  ex- 
haustion under  a  bush  by  the  wayside,  his  emaciated 
body  would  still  be  worth  twenty  thousand  francs. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    311 

And  the  man  who  found  his  corpse  would  not  give  it 
burial.  He  would  place  it  on  his  cart  and  bear  it  to 
Montaignac.  He  would  go  to  the  authorities  and  say : 
"  Here  is  Lacheneur's  body — give  me  the  reward !  " 

How  long  and  by  what  paths  he  pursued  his  flight, 
he  could  not  tell. 

But  several  hours  after,  as  he  traversed  the  wooded 
hills  of  Charves,  he  saw  two  men,  who  sprang  up  and 
fled  at  his  approach.  In  a  terrible  voice,  he  called 
after  them : 

"  Eh !  you  men !  do  each  of  you  desire  a  thousand 
pistoles?  I  am  Lacheneur." 

They  paused  when  they  recognized  him,  and  Lache- 
neur saw  that  they  were  two  of  his  followers.  They 
were  well-to-do  farmers,  and  it  had  been  very  difficult 
to  induce  them  to  take  part  in  the  revolt. 

These  men  had  part  of  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  little 
brandy.  They  gave  both  to  the  famished  man. 

They  sat  down  beside  him  on  the  grass,  and  while 
he  was  eating  they  related  their  misfortunes.  Their 
connection  with  the  conspiracy  had  been  discovered ; 
their  houses  were  full  of  soldiers,  who  were  hunting  for 
them,  but  they  hoped  to  reach  Italy  by  the  aid  of  a 
guide  who  was  waiting  for  them  at  an  appointed  place. 

Lacheneur  extended  his  hand  to  them. 

"  Then  I  am  saved,"  said  he.  "  Weak  and  wounded 
as  I  am,  I  should  perish  if  I  were  left  alone." 

But  the  two  farmers  did  not  accept  the  hand  he  of- 
fered. 

"  We  should  leave  you,"  said  the  younger  man, 
gloomily,  "  for  you  are  the  cause  of  our  misfortunes. 
You  deceived  us,  Monsieur  Lacheneur." 

He  dared  not  protest,  so  just  was  the  reproach. 

<*  Nonsense !  let  him  come  all  the  same,"  said  the 
other,  with  a  peculiar  glance  at  his  companion. 


3i2         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

So  they  walked  on,  and  that  same  evening,  after  nine 
hours  of  travelling  on  the  mountains,  they  crossed  the 
frontier. 

But  this  long  journey  was  not  made  without  bitter 
reproaches,  and  even  more  bitter  recriminations. 

Closely  questioned  by  his  companions,  Lacheneur, 
exhausted  both  in  mind  and  body,  finally  admitted  the 
insincerity  of  the  promises  with  which  he  had  inflamed 
the  zeal  of  his  followers.  He  acknowledged  that  he 
had  spread  the  report  that  Marie-Louise  and  the  young 
King  of  Rome  were  concealed  in  Montaignac,  and  that 
this  report  was  a  gross  falsehood.  He  confessed  that 
he  had  given  the  signal  for  the  revolt  without  any 
chance  of  success,  and  without  means  of  action,  leaving 
everything  to  chance.  In  short,  he  confessed  that 
nothing  was  real  save  his  hatred,  his  implacable  hatred 
of  the  Sairmeuse  family. 

A  dozen  times,  at  least,  during  this  terrible  avowal, 
the  peasants  who  accompanied  him  were  on  the  point 
of  hurling  him  down  the  precipices  upon  whose  verge 
they  were  walking. 

"  So  it  was  to  gratify  his  own  spite,"  they  thought, 
quivering  with  rage,  "  that  he  sets  everybody  to  fight- 
ing and  killing  one  another — that  he  ruins  us,  and 
drives  us  into  exile.  We  will  see." 

The  fugitives  went  to  the  nearest  house  after  cross- 
ing the  frontier. 

It  was  a  lonely  inn,  about  a  league  from  the  little 
village  of  Saint-Jean-de-Coche,  and  was  kept  by  a  man 
named  Balstain. 

They  rapped,  in  spite  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour — 
it  was  past  midnight.  They  were  admitted,  and  they 
ordered  supper. 

But  Lacheneur,  weak  from  loss  of  blood,  and  ex- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    313 

hausted  by  his  long  tramp,  declared  that  he  would  eat 
no  supper. 

He  threw  himself  upon  a  bed  in  an  adjoining  room, 
and  was  soon  asleep. 

This  was  the  first  time  since  their  meeting  with 
Lacheneur  that  his  companions  had  found  an  oppor- 
tunity to  talk  together  in  private. 

The  same  idea  had  occurred  to  both  of  them. 

They  believed  that  by  delivering  up  Lacheneur  to  the 
authorities,  they  might  obtain  pardon  for  themselves. 

Neither  of  these  men  would  have  consented  to  re- 
ceive a  single  sou  of  the  money  promised  to  the  be- 
trayer; but  to  exchange  their  life  and  liberty  for  the 
life  and  liberty  of  Lacheneur  did  not  seem  to  them  a 
culpable  act,  under  the  circumstances. 

"  For  did  he  not  deceive  us  ?  "  they  said  to  them- 
selves. 

They  decided,  at  last,  that  as  soon  as  they  had  fin- 
ished their  supper,  they  would  go  to  Saint-Jean-de- 
Coche  and  inform  the  Piedmontese  guards. 

But  they  reckoned  without  their  host. 

They  had  spoken  loud  enough  to  be  overheard  by 
Balstain,  the  innkeeper,  who  had  learned,  during  the 
day,  of  the  magnificent  reward  which  had  been  prom- 
ised to  Lacheneur's  captor. 

When  he  heard  the  name  of  the  guest  who  was  sleep- 
ing quietly  under  his  roof,  a  thirst  for  gold  seized  him. 
He  whispered  a  word  to  his  wife,  then  escaped  through 
the  window  to  run  and  summon  the  gendarmes. 

He  had  been  gone  half  an  hour  before  the  peasants 
left  the  house;  for  to  muster  up  courage  for  the  act 
they  were  about  to  commit  they  had  been  obliged  to 
drink  heavily. 

They  closed  the  door  so  violently  on  going  out  that 


3M         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

Lacheneur  was  awakened  by  the  noise.  He  sprang 
up,  and  came  out  into  the  adjoining  room. 

The  wife  of  the  innkeeper  was  there  alone. 

"  Where  are  my  friends  ? "  he  asked,  anxiously. 
"  Where  is  your  husband  ?  " 

Moved  by  sympathy,  the  woman  tried  to  falter  some 
excuse,  but  finding  none,  she  threw  herself  at  his  feet, 
crying : 

"  Fly,  Monsieur,  save  yourself — you  are  betrayed !  " 

Lacheneur  rushed  back  into  the  other  room,  seeking 
a  weapon  with  which  he  could  defend  himself,  an  issue 
through  which  he  could  flee  ! 

He  had  thought  that  they  might  abandon  him,  but 
betray  him — no,  never ! 

"  Who  has  sold  me  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  strained,  unnat- 
ural voice. 

"  Your  friends — the  two  men  who  supped  there  at 
that  table." 

"  Impossible,  Madame,  impossible !  " 

He  did  not  suspect  the  designs  and  hopes  of  his 
former  comrades ;  and  he  could  not,  he  would  not  be- 
lieve them  capable  of  ignobly  betraying  him  for  gold. 

"  But,"  pleaded  the  innkeeper's  wife,  still  on  her 
knees  before  him,  "  they  have  just  started  for  Saint- 
Jean-de-Coche,  where  they  will  denounce  you.  I 
heard  them  say  that  your  life  would  purchase  theirs. 
They  have  certainly  gone  to  summon  the  gendarmes! 
Is  this  not  enough,  or  am  I  obliged  to  endure  the  shame 
of  confessing  that  my  own  husband,  too,  has  gone  to 
betray  you." 

Lacheneur  understood  it  all  now!  And  this  su- 
preme misfortune,  after  all  the  misery  he  had  endured, 
broke  him  down  completely. 

Great  tears  gushed  from  his  eyes,  and  sinking  down 
into  a  chair,  he  murmured : 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    315 

"  Let  them  come ;  I  am  ready  for  them.  No,  I  will 
not  stir  from  here.  My  miserable  life  is  not  worth 
such  a  struggle." 

But  the  wife  of  the  traitor  rose,  and  grasping  the  un- 
fortunate man's  clothing,  she  shook  him,  she  dragged 
him  to  the  door — she  would  have  carried  him  had  she 
possessed  sufficient  strength. 

"  You  shall  not  remain  here,"  said  she,  with  extraor- 
dinary vehemence.  "  Fly,  save  yourself.  You  shall 
not  be  taken  here ;  it  will  bring  misfortune  upon  our 
house !  " 

Bewildered  by  these  violent  adjurations,  and  urged 
on  by  the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  so  powerful  in 
every  human  heart,  Lacheneur  stepped  out  upon  the 
threshold. 

The  night  was  very  dark,  and  a  chilling  fog  intensi- 
fied the  gloom. 

"  See,  Madame,"  said  the  poor  fugitive  gently,  "  how 
can  I  find  my  way  through  these  mountains,  which  I 
do  not  know,  and  where  there  are  no  roads — where  the 
foot-paths  are  scarcely  discernible." 

With  a  quick  movement  Balstain's  wife  pushed 
Lacheneur  out,  and  turning  him  as  one  does  a  blind 
man  to  set  him  on  the  right  track : 

"  Walk  straight  before  you,"  said  she,  "  always 
against  the  wind.  God  will  protect  you.  Farewell !  " 

He  turned  to  ask  further  directions,  but  she  had  re- 
entered  the  house  and  closed  the  door. 

Upheld  by  a  feverish  excitement,  he  walked  for  long 
hours.  He  soon  lost  his  way,  and  wandered  on 
through  the  mountains,  benumbed  with  cold,  stumb- 
ling over  rocks,  sometimes  falling. 

Why  he  was  not  precipitated  to  the  depths  of  some 
chasm  it  is  difficult  to  explain. 


3i6         THE  HONOR   OF  THE  NAME 

He  lost  all  idea  of  his  whereabouts,  and  the  sun  was 
high  in  the  heavens  when  he  at  last  met  a  human  be- 
ing of  whom  he  could  inquire  his  way. 

It  was  a  little  shepherd-boy,  in  pursuit  of  some  stray 
goats,  whom  he  encountered;  but  the  lad,  frightened 
by  the  wild  and  haggard  appearance  of  the  stranger,  at 
first  refused  to  approach. 

The  offer  of  a  piece  of  money  induced  him  to  come  a 
little  nearer. 

"  You  are  on  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  Mon- 
sieur," said  he ;  "  and  exactly  on  the  boundary  line. 
Here  is  France ;  there  is  Savoy." 

"  And  what  is  the  nearest  village  ?  " 

"  On  the  Savoyard  side,  Saint-Jean-de-Coche ;  on 
the  French  side,  Saint-Pavin." 

So  after  all  his  terrible  exertions,  Lacheneur  was  not 
a  league  from  the  inn. 

Appalled  by  this  discovery,  he  remained  for  a  mo- 
ment undecided  which  course  to  pursue. 

What  did  it  matter  ?  Why  should  the  doomed  hesi- 
tate? Do  not  all  roads  lead  to  the  abyss  into  which 
they  must  sink  ? 

He  remembered  the  gendarmes!  that  the  innkeeper's 
wife  had  warned  him  against,  and  slowly  and  with  great 
difficulty  descended  the  steep  mountain-side  leading 
down  to  France. 

He  was  near  Saint-Pavin,  when,  before  an  isolated 
cottage,  he  saw  a  pretty  peasant  woman  spinning  in 
the  sunshine. 

He  dragged  himself  toward  her,  and  in  weak  tones 
begged  her  hospitality. 

On  seeing  this  man,  whose  face  was  ghastly  pale, 
and  whose  clothing  was  torn  and  soiled  with  dust  and 
blood,  the  woman  rose,  evidently  more  surprised  than 
alarmed. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    317 

She  looked  at  him  closely,  and  saw  that  his  age,  his 
stature,  and  his  features  corresponded  with  the  de- 
scriptions of  Lacheneur,  which  had  been  scattered 
thickly  about  the  frontier. 

"  You  are  the  conspirator  they  are  hunting  for,  and 
for  whom  they  promise  a  reward  of  twenty  thousand 
francs,"  she  said. 

Lacheneur  trembled. 

"  Yes,  I  am  Lacheneur,"  he  replied,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation ;  "  I  am  Lacheneur.  Betray  me,  if  you  will, 
but  in  charity's  name  give  me  a  morsel  of  bread,  and 
allow  me  to  rest  a  little." 

At  the  words  "  betray  me,"  the  young  woman  made 
a  gesture  of  horror  and  disgust. 

"  We  betray  you,  sir !  "  said  she.  "  Ah !  you  do  not 
know  the  Antoines!  Enter  our  house,  and  lie  down 
upon  the  bed  while  I  prepare  some  refreshments  for 
you.  When  my  husband  comes  home,  we  will  see 
what  can  be  done." 

It  was  nearly  sunset  when  the  master  of  the  house,  a 
robust  mountaineer,  with  a  frank  face,  returned. 

On  beholding  the  stranger  seated  at  his  fireside  he 
turned  frightfully  pale. 

"  Unfortunate  woman ! "  he  whispered  to  his  wife, 
"  do  you  not  know  that  any  man  who  shelters  this  fugi- 
tive will  be  shot,  and  his  house  levelled  to  the 
ground  ?  " 

Lacheneur  rose  with  a  shudder. 

He  had  not  known  this.  He  knew  the  infamous  re- 
ward which  had  been  promised  to  his  betrayer ;  but  he 
had  not  known  the  danger  his  presence  brought  upon 
these  worthy  people. 

"  I  will  go  at  once,  sir,"  said  he,  gently. 

But  the  peasant  placed  his  large  hand  kindly  upon 
his  guest's  shoulder,  and  forced  him  to  resume  his  seat. 


3i8         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  It  was  not  to  drive  you  away  that  I  said  what  I 
did,"  he  remarked.  "  You  are  at  home,  and  you  shall 
remain  here  until  I  can  find  some  means  of  insuring 
your  safety." 

The  pretty  peasant  woman  flung  her  arms  about  her 
husband's  neck,  and  in  tones  of  the  most  ardent  affec- 
tion exclaimed :  "  Ah !  you  are  a  noble  man,  An- 
toine." 

He  smiled,  embraced  her  tenderly,  then,  pointing  to 
the  open  door : 

"  Watch !  "  he  said.  "  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  tell  you, 
sir,  that  it  will  not  be  easy  to  save  you,"  resumed  the 
honest  peasant.  "  The  promises  of  reward  have  set  all 
evil-minded  people  on  the  alert.  They  know  that  you 
are  in  the  neighborhood.  A  rascally  innkeeper  has 
crossed  the  frontier  for  the  express  purpose  of  betray- 
ing your  whereabouts  to  the  French  gendarmes." 

"Balstain?" 

"  Yes,  Balstain ;  and  he  is  hunting  for  you  now. 
That  is  not  all.  As  I  passed  through  Saint-Pavin,  on 
my  return,  I  saw  eight  mounted  soldiers,  guided  by  a 
peasant,  also  on  horseback.  They  declared  that  they 
knew  you  were  concealed  in  the  village,  and  they  were 
going  to  search  every  house." 

These  soldiers  were  none  other  than  the  Montaignac 
chasseurs,  placed  at  Chupin's  disposal  by  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse. 

It  was  indeed  as  Antoine  had  said. 

The  task  was  certainly  not  at  all  to  their  taste,  but 
they  were  closely  watched  by  the  lieutenant  in  com- 
mand, who  hoped  to  receive  some  substantial  reward  if 
the  expedition  was  crowned  with  success.  Antoine, 
meanwhile,  continued  his  exposition  of  his  hopes  and 
fears. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    319 

"  Wounded  and  exhausted  as  you  are,"  he  was  say- 
ing to  Lacheneur,  "  you  will  be  in  no  condition  to  make 
a  long  march  in  less  than  a  fortnight.  Until  then  you 
must  conceal  yourself.  Fortunately,  I  know  a  safe  re- 
treat in  the  mountain,  not  far  from  here.  I  will  take 
you  there  to-night,  with  provisions  enough  to  last  you 
for  a  week." 

A  stifled  cry  from  his  wife  interrupted  him. 

He  turned,  and  saw  her  fall  almost  fainting  against 
the  door,  her  face  whiter  than  her  coif,  her  finger  point- 
ing to  the  path  that  led  from  Saint-Pavin  to  their  cot- 
tage. 

"  The  soldiers — they  are  coming !  "  she  gasped. 

Quicker  than  thought,  Lacheneur  and  the  peasant 
sprang  to  the  door  to  see  for  themselves. 

The  young  woman  had  spoken  the  truth. 

The  Montaignac  chasseurs  were  climbing  the  steep 
foot-path  slowly,  but  surely. 

Chupin  walked  in  advance,  urging  them  on  with 
voice,  gesture  and  example. 

An  imprudent  word  from  the  little  shepherd-boy, 
whom  M.  Lacheneur  had  questioned,  had  decided  the 
fugitive's  fate. 

On  returning  to  Saint-Pavin,  and  hearing  that  the 
soldiers  were  searching  for  the  chief  conspirator,  the 
lad  chanced  to  say : 

"  I  met  a  man  just  now  on  the  mountain  who  asked 
me  where  he  was ;  and  I  saw  him  go  down  the  foot- 
path leading  to  Antoine's  cottage." 

And  in  proof  of  his  words,  he  proudly  displayed  the 
piece  of  silver  which  Lacheneur  had  given  him. 

"  One  more  bold  stroke  and  we  have  our  man  !  "  ex- 
claimed Chupin.  "  Come,  comrades  !  " 

And  now  the  party  were  not  more  than  two  hundred 


320         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

feet  from  the  house  in  which  the  proscribed  man  had 
found  an  asylum. 

Antoine  and  his  wife  looked  at  each  other  with  an- 
guish in  their  eyes. 

They  saw  that  their  visitor  was  lost. 

"  We  must  save  him  !  we  must  save  him !  "  cried  the 
woman. 

"  Yes,  we  must  save  him !  "  repeated  the  husband, 
gloomily.  "  They  shall  kill  me  before  I  betray  a  man 
in  my  own  house." 

"  If  he  would  hide  in  the  stable  behind  the  bundles 
of  straw " 

"  They  would  find  him !  These  soldiers  are  worse 
than  tigers,  and  the  wretch  who  leads  them  on  must 
have  the  keen  scent  of  a  blood-hound." 

He  turned  quickly  to  Lacheneur. 

"  Come,  sir,"  said  he,  "  let  us  leap  from  the  back 
window  and  flee  to  the  mountains.  They  will  see  us, 
but  no  matter !  These  horsemen  are  always  clumsy 
runners.  If  you  cannot  run,  I  will  carry  you.  They 
will  probably  fire  at  us,  but  they  will  miss  us." 

"  And  your  wife?  "  asked  Lacheneur. 

The  honest  mountaineer  shuddered  ;  but  he  said : 

"  She  will  join  us." 

Lacheneur  took  his  friend's  hand  and  pressed  it  ten- 
derly. 

"  Ah !  you  are  noble  people,"  he  exclaimed,  "  and 
God  will  reward  you  for  your  kindness  to  a  poor  fugi- 
tive. But  you  have  done  too  much  already.  I  should 
be  the  basest  of  men  if  I  consented  to  uselessly  expose 
you  to  danger.  I  can  bear  this  life  no  longer ;  I  have 
no  wish  to  escape." 

He  drew  the  sobbing  woman  to  him  and  kissed  her 
upon  the  forehead. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    321 

"  I  have  a  daughter,  young  and  beautiful  like  your- 
self, as  generous  and  proud.  Poor  Marie- Anne !  And 
I  have  pitilessly  sacrificed  her  to  my  hatred !  I  should 
not  complain  ;  come  what  may,  I  have  deserved  it." 

The  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  became  more 
and  more  distinct.  Lacheneur  straightened  himself 
up,  and  seemed  to  be  gathering  all  his  energy  for  the 
decisive  moment. 

"  Remain  inside,"  he  said,  imperiously,  to  Antoine 
and  his  wife.  "  I  am  going  out ;  they  must  not  arrest 
me  in  your  house." 

As  he  spoke,  he  stepped  outside  the  door,  with  a  firm 
tread,  a  dauntless  brow,  a  calm  and  assured  mien. 

The  soldiers  were  but  a  few  feet  from  him. 

"  Halt !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  strong,  ringing  voice. 
"  It  is  Lacheneur  you  are  seeking,  is  it  not  ?  I  am  he ! 
I  surrender  myself." 

An  unbroken  stillness  reigned.  Not  a  sound,  not  a 
word  replied. 

The  spectre  of  death  that  hovered  above  his  head  im- 
parted such  an  imposing  majesty  to  his  person  that  the 
soldiers  paused,  silent  and  awed. 

But  there  was  one  man  who  was  terrified  by  this  res- 
onant voice,  and  that  was  Chupin. 

Remorse  filled  his  cowardly  heart,  and  pale  and 
trembling,  he  tried  to  hide  behind  the  soldiers. 

Lacheneur  walked  straight  to  him. 

"  So  it  is  you  who  have  sold  my  life,  Chupin  ?  "  he 
said,  scornfully.  "  You  have  not  forgotten,  I  see 
plainly,  how  often  Marie-Anne  has  filled  your  empty 
larder — and  now  you  take  your  revenge." 

The  miserable  wretch  seemed  crushed.  Now  that  he 
had  done  this  foul  deed,  he  knew  what  treason  really 
was. 

21 


322         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  So  be  it,"  said  M.  Lacheneur.  "  You  will  receive 
the  price  of  my  blood ;  but  it  will  not  bring  you  good 
fortune — traitor !  " 

But  Chupin,  indignant  with  himself  for  his  weak- 
ness, was  already  trying  to  shake  off  the  fear  that  mas- 
tered him. 

"  You  have  conspired  against  the  King,"  he  stam- 
mered. "  I  have  done  only  my  duty  in  denouncing 
you." 

And  turning  to  the  soldiers,  he  said: 

"  As  for  you,  comrades,  you  may  rest  assured  that 
the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  will  testify  his  gratitude  for  your 
services." 

They  had  bound  Lacheneur's  hands,  and  the  party 
were  about  to  descend  the  mountain,  when  a  man  ap- 
peared, bareheaded,  covered  with  perspiration,  and 
panting  for  breath. 

Twilight  was  falling,  but  M.  Lacheneur  recognized 
Balstain. 

"  Ah  !  you  have  him !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  he 
was  within  hearing  distance,  and  pointing  to  the  pris- 
oner. "  The  reward  belongs  to  me — I  denounced  him 
first  on  the  other  side  of  the  frontier.  The  gendarmes 
at  Saint-Jean-de-Coche  will  testify  to  that.  He  would 
have  been  captured  last  night  in  my  house,  but  he  ran 
away  in  my  absence;  and  I  have  been  following  the 
bandit  for  sixteen  hours." 

He  spoke  with  extraordinary  vehemence  and  volu- 
bility, beside  himself  with  fear  lest  he  was  about  to  lose 
his  reward,  and  lest  his  treason  would  bring  him  noth- 
ing save  disgrace  and  obloquy. 

"  If  you  have  any  right  to  the  reward,  you  must 
prove  it  before  the  proper  authorities,"  said  the  officer 
in  command. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    323 

"  If  I  have  any  right !  "  interrupted  Balstain  ;  "  who 
contests  my  right,  then  ?  " 

He  looked  threateningly  around,  and  his  eyes  fell  on 
Chupin. 

"  Is  it  you  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Do  you  dare  to  assert 
that  you  discovered  the  brigand?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  I  who  discovered  his  hiding-place." 

"  You  lie,  impostor !  "  vociferated  the  innkeeper ; 
"  you  lie !  " 

The  soldiers  did  not  move.  This  scene  repaid  them 
for  the  disgust  they  had  experienced  during  the  after- 
noon. 

"  But,"  continued  Balstain,  "  what  else  could  one 
expect  from  a  vile  knave  like  Chupin?  Everyone 
knows  that  he  has  been  obliged  to  flee  from  France  a 
dozen  times  on  account  of  his  crimes.  Where  did  you 
take  refuge  when  you  crossed  the  frontier,  Chupin? 
In  my  house,  in  the  inn  kept  by  honest  Balstain.  You 
were  fed  and  protected  there.  How  many  times  have 
I  saved  you  from  the  gendarmes  and  from  the  galleys  ? 
More  times  than  I  can  count.  And  to  reward  me, 
you  steal  my  property;  you  steal  this  man  who  was 
mine " 

"  He  is  insane !  "  said  the  terrified  Chupin,  "  he  is 
mad !  " 

Then  the  innkeeper  changed  his  tactics. 

"  At  least  you  will  be  reasonable,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Let  us  see,  Chupin,  what  you  will  do  for  an  old 
friend?  Divide,  will  you  not?  No,  you  say  no? 
What  will  you  give  me,  comrade?  A  third?  Is  that 
too  much  ?  A  quarter,  then " 

Chupin  felt  that  all  the  soldiers  were  enjoying  his 
terrible  humiliation.  They  were  sneering  at  him,  and 
only  an  instant  before  they  had  avoided  coming  in  con- 
tact with  him  with  evident  horror. 


324         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

Transported  with  anger,  he  pushed  Balstain  violent- 
ly aside,  crying  to  the  soldiers : 

"  Come — are  we  going  to  spend  the  night  here  ?  " 

An  implacable  hatred  gleamed  in  the  eye  of  the 
Piedmontese. 

He  drew  his  knife  from  his  pocket,  and  making  the 
sign  of  the  cross  in  the  air : 

"  Saint-Jean-de-Coche,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  ringing 
voice,  "  and  you,  Holy  Virgin,  hear  my  vow.  May 
my  soul  burn  in  hell  if  I  ever  use  a  knife  at  my  repasts 
until  I  have  plunged  this,  which  I  now  hold,  into  the 
heart  of  the  scoundrel  who  has  defrauded  me !  " 

Having  said  this,  he  disappeared  in  the  woods,  and 
the  soldiers  took  up  their  line  of  march. 

But  Chupin  was  no  longer  the  same.  All  his  accus- 
tomed impudence  had  fled.  He  walked  on  with  bowed 
head,  a  prey  to  the  most  sinister  presentiments. 

He  felt  assured  that  an  oath  like  that  of  Balstain's, 
and  uttered  by  such  a  man,  was  equivolent  to  a  death- 
warrant,  or  at  least  to  a  speedy  prospect  of  assassina- 
tion. 

This  thought  tormented  him  so  much  that  he  would 
not  allow  the  detachment  to  spend  the  night  at  Saint- 
Pavin,  as  had  been  agreed  upon.  He  was  impatient 
to  leave  the  neighborhood. 

After  supper  Chupin  sent  for  a  cart ;  the  prisoner, 
securely  bound,  was  placed  in  it,  and  the  party  started 
for  Montaignac. 

The  great  bell  was  striking  two  when  Lacheneur 
was  brought  into  the  citadel. 

At  that  very  moment  M.  d'Escorval  and  Corporal 
Bavois  were  making  their  preparations  for  escape. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME         325 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

Alone  in  his  cell,  Chanlouineau,  after  Marie-Anne's 
departure,  abandoned  himself  to  the  most  frightful  de- 
spair. 

He  had  just  given  more  than  life  to  the  woman  he 
loved  so  fervently. 

For  had  he  not,  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  an  inter- 
view with  her,  perilled  his  honor  by  simulating  the 
most  ignoble  fear?  While  doing  so,  he  thought  only 
of  the  success  of  his  ruse.  But  now  he  knew  only  too 
well  what  those  who  had  witnessed  his  apparent  weak- 
ness would  say  of  him. 

"  This  Chanlouineau  is  only  a  miserable  coward 
after  all,"  he  fancied  he  could  hear  them  saying  among 
themselves.  "  We  have  seen  him  on  his  knees,  beg- 
ging for  mercy,  and  promising  to  betray  his  accom- 
plices." 

The  thought  that  his  memory  would  be  tarnished 
with  charges  of  cowardice  and  treason  drove  him  near- 
ly mad. 

He  actually  longed  for  death,  since  it  would  give 
him  an  opportunity  to  retrieve  his  honor. 

"  They  shall  see,  then,"  he  cried,  wrathfully,  "  if  I 
turn  pale  and  tremble  before  the  soldiers." 

He  was  in  this  state  of  mind  when  the  door  opened 
to  admit  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu,  who,  after  see- 
ing Mile.  Lacheneur  leave  the  prison,  came  to  Chan- 
louineau to  ascertain  the  result  of  her  visit. 

"  Well,  my  good  fellow — "  began  the  marquis,  in 
his  most  condescending  manner. 

"  Leave  ?  "  cried  Chanlouineau,  in  a  fury  of  passion. 
"  Leave,  or " 


326         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

Without  waiting  to  hear  the  end  of  the  sentence  the 
marquis  made  his  escape,  greatly  surprised  and  not  a 
little  dismayed  by  this  sudden  change. 

"  What  a  dangerous  and  blood-thirsty  rascal !  "  he 
remarked  to  the  guard.  "  It  would,  perhaps,  be  advis- 
able to  put  him  in  a  strait-jacket !  " 

Ah !  there  was  no  necessity  for  that.  The  heroic 
peasant  had  thrown  himself  upon  his  straw  pallet,  op- 
pressed with  feverish  anxiety. 

Would  Marie-Anne  know  how  to  make  the  best  use 
of  the  weapon  which  he  had  placed  in  her  hands  ? 

If  he  hoped  so,  it  was  because  she  would  have  as  her 
counsellor  and  guide  a  man  in  whose  judgment  he 
had  the  most  implicit  confidence — Abbe  Midon. 

"  Martial  will  be  afraid  of  the  letter,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, again  and  again ;  "  certainly  he  will  be  afraid." 

In  this  Chanlouineau  was  entirely  mistaken.  His 
discernment  and  intelligence  were  certainly  above  his 
station,  but  he  was  not  sufficiently  acute  to  read  a  char- 
acter like  that  of  the  young  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse. 

The  document  which  he  had  written  in  a  moment  of 
abandon  and  blindness,  was  almost  without  influence  in 
determining  his  course. 

He  pretended  to  be  greatly  alarmed,  in  order  to 
frighten  his  father;  but  in  reality  he  considered  the 
threat  puerile. 

Marie-Anne  would  have  obtained  the  same  assist- 
ance from  him  if  she  had  not  possessed  this  letter. 

Other  influences  had  decided  him :  the  difficulties 
and  dangers  of  the  undertaking,  the  risks  to  be  in- 
curred, the  prejudices  to  be  braved. 

To  save  the  life  of  Baron  d'Escorval — an  enemy — 
to  wrest  him  from  the  execution  on  the  very  steps  of 
the  scaffold,  as  it  were,  seemed  to  him  a  delightful  en- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    327 

terprise.  And  to  assure  the  happiness  of  the  woman 
be  adored  by  saving  the  life  of  an  enemy,  even  after 
his  suit  had  been  refused,  seemed  a  chivalrous  act 
worthy  of  him. 

Besides,  what  an  opportunity  it  afforded  for  the  ex- 
ercise of  his  sang-froid,  his  diplomatic  talent,  and  the 
finesse  upon  which  he  prided  himself ! 

It  was  necessary  to  make  his  father  his  dupe.  That 
was  an  easy  task. 

It  was  necessary  to  impose  upon  the  credulity  of  the 
Marquis  de  Courtornieu.  This  was  a  difficult  task, 
yet  he  succeeded. 

But  poor  Chanlouineau  could  not  conceive  of  such 
contradictions,  and  he  was  consumed  with  anxiety. 

Willingly  would  he  have  consented  to  be  put  to  the 
torture  before  receiving  his  death-blow,  if  he  might 
have  been  allowed  to  follow  Marie- Anne  in  her  under- 
takings. 

What  was  she  doing  ?    How  could  he  ascertain  ? 

A  dozen  times  during  the  evening  he  called  his 
guards,  under  every  possible  pretext,  and  tried  to  com- 
pel them  to  talk  with  him.  He  knew  very  well  that 
these  men  could  be  no  better  informed  on  the  subject 
than  he  was  himself,  that  he  could  place  no  confidence 
in  their  reports — but  that  made  no  difference. 

The  drums  beat  for  the  evening  roll-call,  then  for  the 
extinguishment  of  lights — after  that,  silence. 

Standing  at  the  window  of  his  cell,  Chanlouineau 
concentrated  all  his  faculties  in  a  superhuman  effort  of 
attention. 

It  seemed  to  him,  if  the  baron  regained  his  liberty, 
he  would  be  warned  of  it  by  some  sign.  Those  whom 
he  had  saved  owed  him,  he  thought,  this  slight  token 
of  gratitude. 


328         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

A  little  after  two  o'clock  he  heard  sounds  that  made 
him  tremble.  There  was  a  great  bustle  in  the  corri- 
dors ;  guards  running  to  and  fro,  and  calling  each 
other,  a  rattling  of  keys,  and  the  opening  and  shutting 
of  doors. 

The  passage  was  suddenly  illuminated;  he  looked 
out,  and  by  the  uncertain  light  of  the  lanterns,  he 
thought  he  saw  Lacheneur,  as  pale  as  a  ghost,  pass  the 
cell,  led  by  some  soldiers. 

Lacheneur!  Could  this  be  possible?-  He  doubted 
his  own  eyesight.  He  thought  it  must  be  a  vision 
born  of  the  fever  burning  in  his  brain. 

Later,  he  heard  a  despairing  cry.  But  was  it  sur- 
prising that  one  should  hear  such  a  sound  in  a  prison, 
where  twenty  men  condemned  to  death  were  suffering 
the  agony  of  that  terrible  night  which  precedes  the  day 
of  execution. 

At  last,  the  gray  light  of  early  dawn  came  creeping 
in  through  the  prison-bars.  Chanlouineau  was  in  de- 
spair. 

"  The  letter  was  useless !  "  he  murmured. 

Poor  generous  peasant !  His  heart  would  have 
leaped  for  joy  could  he  have  cast  a  glance  on  the  court- 
yard of  the  citadel. 

More  than  an  hour  had  passed  after  the  sounding 
of  the  reveille,  when  two  countrywomen,  who  were 
carrying  their  butter  and  eggs  to  market,  presented 
themselves  at  the  gate  of  the  fortress. 

They  declared  that  while  passing  through  the  fields 
at  the  base  of  the  precipitous  cliff  upon  which  the 
citadel  was  built,  they  had  discovered  a  rope  dangling 
from  the  side  of  the  rock.  A  rope !  Then  one  of  the 
condemned  prisoners  must  have  escaped.  The  guards 
hastened  to  Baron  d'Escorval's  room — it  was  empty. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    329 

The  baron  had  fled,  taking  with  him  the  man  who 
had  been  left  to  guard  him — Corporal  Bavois,  of  the 
grenadiers. 

The  amazement  was  as  intense  as  the  indignation, 
but  the  fright  was  still  greater. 

There  was  not  a  single  officer  who  did  not  tremble 
on  thinking  of  his  responsibility ;  not  one  who  did  not 
see  his  hopes  of  advancement  blighted  forever. 

What  should  they  say  to  the  formidable  Due  de 
Sairmeuse  and  to  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu,  who, 
in  spite  of  his  calm  and  polished  manners,  was  almost 
as  much  to  be  feared.  It  was  necessary  to  warn  them, 
however,  and  a  sergeant  was  despatched  with  the  news. 

Soon  they  made  their  appearance,  accompanied  by 
Martial;  all  frightfully  angry. 

M.  de  Sairmeuse  especially  seemed  beside  himself. 

He  swore  at  everybody,  accused  everybody,  threat- 
ened everybody. 

He  began  by  consigning  all  the  keepers  and  guards 
to  prison ;  he  even  talked  of  demanding  the  dismissal 
of  all  the  officers. 

"  As  for  that  miserable  Bavois,"  he  exclaimed,  "  as 
for  that  cowardly  deserter,  he  shall  be  shot  as  soon  as 
we  capture  him,  and  we  will  capture  him,  you  may 
depend  upon  it !  " 

They  had  hoped  to  appease  the  duke's  wrath  a  little, 
by  informing  him  of  Lacheneur's  arrest ;  but  he  knew 
this  already,  for  Chupin  had  ventured  to  awake  him 
in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  tell  him  the  great  news. 

The  baron's  escape  afforded  the  duke  an  oppor- 
tunity to  exalt  Chupin's  merits. 

"  The  man  who  has  discovered  Lacheneur  will  know 
how  to  find  this  traitor  D'Escorval,"  he  remarked. 

M.  de    Courtornieu,  who    was    more    calm,  "  took 


330 

measures  for  the  restoration  of  a  great  culprit  to  the 
hand  of  justice,"  as  he  said. 

He  sent  couriers  in  every  direction,  ordering  them 
to  make  close  inquiries  throughout  the  neighborhood. 

His  commands  were  brief,  but  to  the  point;  they 
were  to  watch  the  frontier,  to  submit  all  travellers  to 
a  rigorous  examination,  to  search  the  house,  and  to 
sow  the  description  of  D'Escorval  broadcast  through 
the  land. 

But  first  of  all  he  ordered  the  arrest  both  of  Abbe 
Midon — the  Cure  of  Sairmeuse,  and  of  the  son  of 
Baron  d'Escorval. 

Among  the  officers  present  there  was  one,  an  old 
lieutenant,  medalled  and  decorated,  who  had  been 
deeply  wounded  by  imputations  uttered  by  the  Due 
de  Sairmeuse. 

He  stepped  forward  with  a  gloomy  air,  and  said  that 
these  measures  were  doubtless  all  very  well,  but  the 
most  pressing  and  urgent  duty  was  to  institute  an  in- 
vestigation at  once,  which,  while  acquainting  them  with 
the  method  of  escape,  would  probably  reveal  the  ac- 
complices. 

On  hearing  the  word  "  investigation,"  neither  the 
Due  de  Sairmeuse  nor  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu 
could  repress  a  slight  shudder. 

They  could  not  ignore  the  fact  that  their  reputations 
were  at  stake,  and  that  the  merest  trifle  might  disclose 
the  truth.  A  precaution  neglected,  the  most  insig- 
nificant detail,  a  word,  a  gesture  might  ruin  their  am- 
bitious hopes  forever. 

They  trembled  to  think  that  this  officer  might  be  a 
man  of  unusual  shrewdness,  who  had  suspected  their 
simplicity,  and  was  impatient  to  verify  his  presump- 
tions. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    331 

No,  the  old  lieutenant  had  not  the  slightest  suspicion. 
He  had  spoken  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  merely 
to  give  vent  to  his  displeasure.  He  was  not  even  keen 
enough  to  remark  the  rapid  glance  interchanged  be- 
tween the  marquis  and  the  duke. 

Martial  noticed  this  look,  however,  and  with  a  po- 
liteness too  studied  not  to  be  ridicule,  he  addressed  the 
lieutenant : 

"  Yes,  we  must  institute  an  investigation ;  that  sug- 
gestion is  as  shrewd  as  it  is  opportune,"  he  remarked. 

The  old  officer  turned  away  with  a  muttered  oath. 

"  That  coxcomb  is  poking  fun  at  me,"  he  thought ; 
"  and  he  and  his  father  and  that  prig  deserve — but  what 
is  one  to  do  ?  " 

In  spite  of  his  bold  remark,  Martial  felt  that  he  must 
not  incur  the  slightest  risk. 

To  whom  must  the  charge  of  this  investigation  be 
intrusted  ?  To  the  duke  and  to  the  marquis,  of  course, 
since  they  were  the  only  persons  who  would  know  just 
how  much  to  conceal,  and  just  how  much  to  disclose. 

They  began  their  task  immediately,  with  an  cmpresse- 
mcnt  which  could  not  fail  to  silence  all  doubts,  in  case 
any  existed  in  the  minds  of  their  subordinates. 

But  who  could  be  suspicious?  The  success  of  the 
plot  had  been  all  the  more  certain  from  the  fact  that 
the  baron's  escape  seemed  likely  to  injure  the  interests 
of  the  very  parties  who  had  favored  it. 

Martial  thought  he  knew  the  details  of  the  escape 
as  exactly  as  the  fugitives  themselves.  He  had  been 
the  author,  even  if  they  had  been  the  actors,  of  the 
drama  of  the  preceding  night. 

He  was  soon  obliged  to  admit  that  he  was  mistaken 
in  this  opinion. 

The  investigation  revealed  facts  which  seemed  in- 
comprehensible to  him. 


332        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

It  was  evident  that  the  Baron  d'Escorval  and  Cor- 
poral Bavois  had  been  compelled  to  accomplish  two, 
successive  descents. 

To  do  this  the  prisoners  had  realized  (since  they  had 
succeeded)  the  necessity  of  having  two  ropes.  Martial 
had  provided  them ;  the  prisoners  must  have  used  them. 
And  yet  only  one  rope  could  be  found — the  one 
which  the  peasant  woman  had  perceived  hanging  from 
the  rocky  platform,  where  it  was  made  fast  to  an  iron 
crowbar. 

From  the  window  to  the  platform,  there  was  no  rope. 

"  This  is  most  extraordinary !  "  murmured  Martial, 
thoughtfully. 

"  Very  strange !  "  approved  M.  de  Courtornieu. 

"  How  the  devil  could  they  have  reached  the  base 
of  the  tower?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  cannot  understand." 

But  Martial  found  another  cause  for  surprise. 

On  examining  the  rope  that  remained — the  one 
which  had  been  used  in  making  the  second  descent — 
he  discovered  that  it  was  not  a  single  piece.  Two  pieces 
had  been  knotted  together.  The  longest  piece  had 
evidently  been  too  short. 

How  did  this  happen?  Could  the  duke  have  made 
a  mistake  in  the  height  of  the  cliff?  or  had  the  abbe 
measured  the  rope  incorrectly? 

But  Martial  had  also  measured  it  with  his  eye,  and  it 
had  seemed  to  him  that  the  rope  was  much  longer, 
fully  a  third  longer,  than  it  now  appeared. 

"  There  must  have  been  some  accident,"  he  remarked 
to  his  father  and  to  the  marquis ;  "  but  what  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  does  it  matter?  "  replied  the  marquis, 
"  you  have  the  compromising  letter,  have  you  not  ?  " 

But  Martial's  was  one  of  those  minds  that  never  rest 
when  confronted  by  an  unsolved  problem. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    333 

He  insisted  on  going  to  inspect  the  rocks  at  the  foot 
of  the  precipice. 

There  they  discovered  large  spots  of  blood. 

"  One  of  the  fugitives  must  have  fallen,"  said  Mar- 
tial, quickly,  "  and  was  dangerously  wounded !  " 

"  Upon  my  word !  "  exclaimed  the  Due  de  Sair- 
meuse,  "  if  Baron  d'Escorval  has  broken  his  neck,  I 
shall  be  delighted !  " 

Martial's  face  turned  crimson,  and  he  looked  search- 
ingly  at  his  father. 

"  I  suppose,  Monsieur,  that  you  do  not  mean  one 
word  of  what  you  are  saying,"  Martial  said,  coldly. 
"  We  pledged  ourselves,  upon  the  honor  of  our  name, 
to  save  Baron  d'Escorval.  If  he  has  been  killed  it  will 
be  a  great  misfortune  to  us,  Monsieur,  a  great  mis- 
fortune." 

When  his  son  addressed  him  in  his  haughty  and 
freezing  tone  the  duke  never  knew  how  to  reply.  He 
was  indignant,  but  his  son's  was  the  stronger  nature. 

"Nonsense!"  exclaimed  M.  de  Courtornieu ;  "  if 
the  rascal  had  merely  been  wounded  we  should  have 
known  it." 

Such  was  the  opinion  of  Chupin,  who  had  been  sent 
for  by  the  duke,  and  who  had  just  made  his  appearance. 

But  the  old  scoundrel,  who  was  usually  so  loqua- 
cious and  so  officious,  replied  briefly ;  and,  strange  to 
say,  did  not  offer  his  services. 

Of  his  imperturbable  assurance,  of  his  wonted  impu- 
dence, of  his  obsequious  and  cunning  smile,  absolute- 
ly nothing  remained. 

His  restless  eyes,  the  contraction  of  his  features,  his 
gloomy  manner,  and  the  occasional  shudder  which  he 
could  not  repress,  all  betrayed  his  secret  perturbation. 

So  marked  was  the  change  that  even  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse  observed  it. 


334        THE    HONOR   OF   THE    NAME 

"  What  calamity  has  happened  to  you,  Master 
Chupin  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  This  has  happened,"  he  responded,  sullenly : 
"  when  I  was  coming  here  the  children  of  the  town 
threw  mud  and  stones  at  me,  and  ran  after  me,  shout- 
ing :  '  Traitor !  traitor ! '  " 

He  clinched  his  fists;  he  seemed  to  be  meditating 
vengeance,  and  he  added : 

"  The  people  of  Montaignac  are  pleased.  They 
know  that  the  baron  has  escaped,  and  they  are  re- 
joicing." 

Alas !  this  joy  was  destined  to  be  of  short  duration, 
for  this  was  the  day  appointed  for  the  execution  of  the 
conspirators. 

It  was  Wednesday. 

At  noon  the  gates  of  the  citadel  were  closed,  and  the 
gloom  was  profound  and  universal,  when  the  heavy 
rolling  of  drums  announced  the  preparations  for  the 
frightful  holocaust. 

Consternation  and  fear  spread  through  the  town ; 
the  silence  of  death  made  itself  felt  on  every  side ;  the 
streets  were  deserted,  and  the  doors  and  shutters  of 
every  house  were  closed. 

At  last,  as  three  o'clock  sounded,  the  gates  of  the 
fortress  were  opened  to  give  passage  to  fourteen 
doomed  men,  each  accompanied  by  a  priest. 

Fourteen!  for  seized  by  remorse  or  fright  at  the 
last  moment,  M  de  Courtornieu  and  the  Due  de  Sair- 
meuse  had  granted  a  reprieve  to  six  of  the  prisoners, 
and  at  that  very  hour  a  courier  was  hastening  toward 
Paris  with  six  petitions  for  pardons,  signed  by  the  Mili- 
tary Commission. 

Chanlouineau  was  not  among  those  for  whom  royal 
clemency  had  been  solicited. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   335 

When  he  left  his  cell,  without  knowing  whether  or 
not  his  letter  had  availed,  he  counted  the  condemned 
with  poignant  anxiety. 

His  eyes  betrayed  such  an  agony  of  anguish  that  the 
priest  who  accompanied  him  leaned  toward  him  and 
whispered : 

"  For  whom  are  you  looking,  my  son  ?  " 

"  For  Baron  d'Escorval." 

"  He  escaped  last  night." 

"  Ah !  now  I  shall  die  content !  "  exclaimed  the 
heroic  peasant. 

He  died  as  he  had  sworn  he  would  die,  without  even 
changing  color — calm  and  proud,  the  name  of  Marie- 
Anne  upon  his  lips. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

Ah,  well,  there  was  one  woman,  a  fair  young  girl, 
whose  heart  had  not  been  touched  by  the  sorrowful 
scenes  of  which  Montaignac  had  been  the  theatre. 

Mile.  Blanche  de  Courtornieu  smiled  as  brightly  as 
ever  in  the  midst  of  a  stricken  people ;  and  surrounded 
by  mourners,  her  lovely  eyes  remained  dry. 

The  daughter  of  a  man  who,  for  a  week,  exercised 
the  power  of  a  dictator,  she  did  not  lift  her  finger  to 
save  a  single  one  of  the  condemned  prisoners  from  the 
executioner. 

They  had  stopped  her  carriage  on  the  public  road. 
This  was  a  crime  which  Mile,  de  Courtornieu  could 
never  forget. 

She  also  knew  that  she  owed  it  to  Marie- Anne's  in- 
tercession that  she  had  not  been  held  prisoner.  This 
she  could  never  forgive. 


336        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

So  it  was  with  the  bitterest  resentment  that,  on  the 
morning  following  her  arrival  in  Montaignac,  she  re- 
counted what  she  styled  her  "  humiliations  "  to  her 
father,  i.e.,  the  inconceivable  arrogance  of  that  La- 
cheneur  girl,  and  the  frightful  brutality  of  which  the 
peasants  had  been  guilty. 

And  when  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  asked  if  she 
would  consent  to  testify  against  Baron  d'Escorval,  she 
coldly  replied : 

"  I  think  that  such  is  my  duty,  and  I  shall  fulfil  it, 
however  painful  it  may  be." 

She  knew  perfectly  well  that  her  deposition  would  be 
the  baron's  death-warrant;  but  she  persisted  in  her 
resolve,  veiling  her  hatred  and  her  insensibility  under 
the  name  of  virtue. 

But  we  must  do  her  the  justice  to  admit  that  her  tes- 
timony was  sincere. 

She  really  believed  that  it  was  Baron  d'Escorval  who 
was  with  the  rebels,  and  whose  opinion  Chanlouineau 
had  asked. 

This  error  on  the  part  of  Mile.  Blanche  rose  from 
the  custom  of  designating  Maurice  by  his  Christian 
name,  which  prevailed  in  the  neighborhood. 

In  speaking  of  him  everyone  said  "  Monsieur 
Maurice."  When  they  said  "  Monsieur  d'Escorval," 
they  referred  to  the  baron. 

After  the  crushing  evidence  against  the  accused  had 
been  written  and  signed  in  her  fine  and  aristocratic 
hand-writing,  Mile,  de  Courtornieu  bore  herself  with 
partly  real  and  partly  affected  indifference.  She  would 
not,  on  any  account,  have  had  people  suppose  that  any- 
thing relating  to  these  plebeians — these  low  peasants — 
could  possibly  disturb  her  proud  serenity.  She  would 
not  so  much  as  ask  a  single  question  on  the  subject. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   337 

But  this  superb  indifference  was,  in  great  measure, 
assumed.  In  her  inmost  soul  she  was  blessing  this 
conspiracy  which  had  caused  so  many  tears  and  so 
much  blood  to  flow.  Had  it  not  removed  her  rival 
from  her  path  ? 

"  Now,"  she  thought,  "  the  marquis  will  return  to 
me,  and  I  will  make  him  forget  the  bold  creature  who 
has  bewitched  him !  " 

Chimeras!  The  charm  had  vanished  which  had 
once  caused  the  love  of  Martial  de  Sairmeuse  to  oscil- 
late between  Mile,  de  Courtornieu  and  the  daughter  of 
Lacheneur. 

Captivated  at  first  by  the  charms  of  Mile.  Blanche, 
he  soon  discovered  the  calculating  ambition  and  the 
utter  worldliness  concealed  beneath  such  seeming  sim- 
plicity and  candor.  Nor  was  he  long  in  discerning  her 
intense  vanity,  her  lack  of  principle,  and  her  unbounded 
selfishness;  and,  comparing  her  with  the  noble  and 
generous  Marie-Anne,  his  admiration  was  changed 
into  indifference,  or  rather  repugnance. 

He  did  return  to  her,  however,  or  at  least  he 
seemed  to  return  to  her,  actuated,  perhaps,  by  that  in- 
explicable sentiment  that  impels  us  sometimes  to  do 
that  which  is  most  distasteful  to  us,  and  by  a  feeling  of 
discouragement  and  despair,  knowing  that  Marie- 
Anne  was  now  lost  to  him  forever. 

He  also  said  to  himself  that  a  pledge  had  been  inter- 
changed between  the  duke  and  the  Marquis  de  Court- 
ornieu ;  that  he,  too,  had  given  his  word,  and  that  Mile. 
Blanche  was  his  betrothed. 

Was  it  worth  while  to  break  this  engagement? 
Would  he  not  be  compelled  to  marry  some  day  ?  Why 
not  fulfil  the  pledge  that  had  been  made  ?  He  was  as 
willing  to  marry  Mile,  de  Courtornieu  as  anyone  else, 


338        THE   HONOR. OF   THE   NAME 

since  he  was  sure  that  the  only  woman  whom  he  had 
ever  truly  loved — the  only  woman  whom  he  ever  could 
love — was  never  to  be  his. 

Master  of  himself  when  near  her,  and  sure  that  he 
would  ever  remain  the  same,  it  was  easy  to  play  the 
part  of  lover  with  that  perfection  and  that  charm  which 
— sad  as  it  is  to  say  it — the  real  passion  seldom  or  never 
attains.  He  was  assisted  by  his  self-love,  and  also  by 
that  instinct  of  duplicity  which  leads  a  man  to  contra- 
dict his  thoughts  by  his  acts. 

But  while  he  seemed  to  be  occupied  only  with 
thoughts  of  his  approaching  marriage,  his  mind  was 
full  of  intense  anxiety  concerning  Baron  d'Escorval. 

What  had  become  of  the  baron  and  of  Bavois  after 
their  escape?  What  had  become  of  those  who  were 
awaiting  them  on  the  rocks — for  Martial  knew  all  their 
plans — Mme.  d'Escorval  and  Marie-Anne,  the  abbe 
and  Maurice,  and  the  four  officers  ? 

There  were,  then,  ten  persons  in  all  who  had  disap- 
peared. And  Martial  asked  himself  again  and  again, 
how  it  could  be  possible  for  so  many  individuals  to 
mysteriously  disappear,  leaving  no  trace  behind  them. 

"  It  unquestionably  denotes  a  superior  ability," 
thought  Martial,  "  I  recognize  the  hand  of  the  priest." 

It  was,  indeed,  remarkable,  since  the  search  ordered 
by  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  and  the  marquis  had  been 
pursued  with  feverish  activity,  greatly  to  the  terror  of 
those  who  had  instituted  it.  Still  what  could  they  do  ? 
They  had  imprudently  excited  the  zeal  of  their  subordi- 
nates, and  now  they  were  unable  to  moderate  it.  But 
fortunately  all  efforts  to  discover  the  fugitives  had 
proved  unavailing. 

One  witness  testified,  however,  that  on  the  morning 
of  the  escape,  he  met,  just  before  daybreak,  a  party  of 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    339 

about  a  dozen  persons,  men  and  women,  who  seemed 
to  be  carrying  a  dead  body. 

This  circumstance,  taken  in  connection  with  the 
broken  rope  and  the  blood-stains,  made  Martial  trem- 
ble. 

He  had  also  been  strongly  impressed  by  another 
circumstance,  which  was  revealed  as  the  investigation 
progressed. 

All  the  soldiers  who  were  on  guard  that  eventful 
night  were  interrogated.  One  of  them  testified  as  fol- 
lows: 

"  I  was  on  guard  in  the  corridor  communicating  with 
the  prisoner's  apartment  in  the  tower,  when  at  about 
half-past  two  o'clock,  after  Lacheneur  had  been  placed 
in  his  cell,  I  saw  an  officer  approaching  me.  I  chal- 
lenged him ;  he  gave  me  the  countersign,  and,  natural- 
ly, I  allowed  him  to  pass.  He  went  down  the  corridor, 
and  entered  the  room  adjoining  that  in  which  Monsieur 
d'Escorval  was  confined.  He  remained  there  about 
five  minutes." 

"  Did  you  recognize  this  officer  ?  "  Martial  eagerly 
inquired. 

And  the  soldier  answered :  "  No.  He  wore  a  large 
cloak,  the  collar  of  which  was  turned  up  so  high  that 
it  covered  his  face  to  the  very  eyes." 

Who  could  this  mysterious  officer  have  been  ? 
What  was  he  doing  in  the  room  where  the  ropes  had 
been  deposited? 

Martial  racked  his  brain  to  discover  an  answer  to 
these  questions. 

The  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  himself  seemed  much 
disturbed. 

"  How  could  you  be  ignorant  that  there  were  many 
sympathizers  with  this  movement  in  the  garrison  ? " 


340        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

he  said,  angrily.  "  You  might  have  known  that  this 
visitor,  who  concealed  his  face  so  carefully,  was  an  ac- 
complice who  had  been  warned  by  Bavois,  and  who 
came  to  see  if  he  needed  a  helping  hand." 

This  was  a  plausible  explanation,  still  it  did  not  sat- 
isfy Martial. 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  he  thought,  "  that  Monsieur 
d'Escorval  has  not  even  deigned  to  let  me  know  he  is  in 
safety.  The  service  which  I  have  rendered  him  de- 
serves that  acknowledgment,  at  least." 

Such  was  his  disquietude  that  he  resolved  to  apply 
to  Chupin,  even  though  this  traitor  inspired  him  with 
extreme  repugnance. 

But  it  was  no  longer  easy  to  obtain  the  services  of 
the  old  spy.  Since  he  had  received  the  price  of  La- 
cheneur's  blood — the  twenty  thousand  francs  which 
had  so  fascinated  him — Chupin  had  deserted  the  house 
of  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse. 

He  had  taken  up  his  quarters  in  a  small  inn  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  town ;  and  he  spent  his  days  alone  in 
a  large  room  on  the  second  floor. 

At  night  he  barricaded  the  doors,  and  drank,  drank, 
drank ;  and  until  daybreak  they  could  hear  him  cursing 
and  singing  or  struggling  against  imaginary  enemies. 

Still  he  dared  not  disobey  the  order  brought  by  a 
soldier,  summoning  him  to  the  Hotel  de  Sairmeuse  at 
once. 

"  I  wish  to  discover  what  has  become  of  Baron  d'Es- 
corval," said  Martial. 

Chupin  trembled,  he  who  had  formerly  been  bronze, 
and  a  fleeting  color  dyed  his  cheeks. 

"  The  Montaignac  police  are  at  your  disposal,"  he 
answered  sulkily.  •  "  They,  perhaps,  can  satisfy  the 
curiosity  of  Monsieur  le  Marquis.  I  do  not  belong  to 
the  police." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   341 

Was  he  in  earnest,  or  was  he  endeavoring  to  aug- 
ment the  value  of  his  services  by  refusing  them  ?  Mar- 
tial inclined  to  the  latter  opinion. 

"  You  shall  have  no  reason  to  complain  of  my  gen- 
erosity," said  he.  "  I  will  pay  you  well." 

But  on  hearing  the  word  "  pay,"  which  would  have 
made  his  eyes  gleam  with  delight  a  week  before,  Chu- 
pin  flew  into  a  furious  passion. 

"  So  it  was  to  tempt  me  again  that  you  summoned  me 
here !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  would  do  better  to  leave 
me  quietly  at  my  inn." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  fool  ?  " 

But  Chupin  did  not  even  hear  this  interruption,  and, 
with  increasing  fury,  he  continued : 

"  They  told  me  that,  by  betraying  Lacheneur,  I 
should  be  doing  my  duty  and  serving  the  King.  I  be- 
trayed him,  and  now  I  am  treated  as  if  I  had  committed 
the  worst  of  crimes.  Formerly,  when  I  lived  by  steal- 
ing and  poaching,  they  despised  me,  perhaps  ;  but  they 
did  not  shun  me  as  they  did  the  pestilence.  They  called 
me  rascal,  robber,  and  the  like ;  but  they  would  drink 
with  me  all  the  same.  To-day  I  have  twenty  thousand 
francs,  and  I  am  treated  as  if  I  were  a  venomous  beast. 
If  I  approach  a  man,  he  draws  back ;  if  I  enter  a  room, 
those  who  are  there  leave  it." 

The  recollection  of  the  insults  he  had  received  made 
him  more  and  more  frantic  with  rage. 

"  Was  the  act  I  committed  so  ignoble  and  abomi- 
nable? "  he  pursued.  "  Then  why  did  your  father  pro- 
pose it?  The  shame  should  fall  on  him.  He  should 
not  have  tempted  a  poor  man  with  wealth  like  that.  If, 
on  the  contrary,  I  have  done  well,  let  them  make  laws 
to  protect  me." 

Martial  comprehended  the  necessity  of  reassuring 
his  troubled  mind. 


342        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

"  Chupin,  my  boy,"  said  he,  "  I  do  not  ask  you  to 
discover  Monsieur  d'Escorval  in  order  to  denounce 
him ;  far  from  it — I  only  desire  you  to  ascertain  if  any- 
one at  Saint- Pavin,  or  at  Saint-Jean-de-Coche,  knows 
of  his  having  crossed  the  frontier." 

On  hearing- the  name  Saint-Jean-de-Coche,  Chupin's 
face  blanched. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  be  murdered  ?  "  he  exclaimed, 
remembering  Balstain  and  his  vow.  "  I  would 
have  you  know  that  I  value  my  life,  now  that  I  am 
rich." 

And  seized  with  a  sort  of  panic  he  fled  precipitately. 
Martial  was  stupefied  with  astonishment. 

"  One  might  really  suppose  that  the  wretch  was  sorry 
for  what  he  had  done,"  he  thought. 

If  that  was  really  the  case,  Chupin  was  not  alone. 

M.  de  Courtornieu  and  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  were 
secretly  blaming  themselves  for  the  exaggerations  in 
their  first  reports,  and  the  manner  in  which  they  had 
magnified  the  proportions  of  the  rebellion.  They  ac- 
cused each  other  of  undue  haste,  of  neglect  of  the 
proper  forms  of  procedure,  and  the  injustice  of  the 
verdict  rendered. 

Each  endeavored  to  make  the  other  responsible  for 
the  blood  which  had  been  spilled ;  one  tried  to  cast  the 
public  odium  upon  the  other. 

Meanwhile  they  were  both  doing  their  best  to  obtain 
a  pardon  for  the  six  prisoners  who  had  been  reprieved. 

They  did  not  succeed. 

One  night  a  courier  arrived  at  Montaignac,  bearing 
the  following  laconic  despatch  : 

"  The  twenty-one  convicted  prisoners  must  be 
executed." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   343 

That  is  to  say,  the  Due  de  Richelieu,  and  the  coun- 
cil of  ministers,  headed  by  M.  Decazes,  the  minister  of 
police,  had  decided  that  the  petitions  for  clemency 
must  be  refused. 

This  despatch  was  a  terrible  blow  to  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse  and  M.  de  Courtornieu.  They  knew,  better 
than  anyone  else,  how  little  these  poor  men,  whose 
lives  they  had  tried,  too  late,  to  save,  deserved  death. 
They  knew  it  would  soon  be  publicly  proven  that  two 
of  the  six  men  had  taken  no  part  whatever  in  the  con- 
spiracy. 

What  was  to  be  done? 

Martial  desired  his  father  to  resign  his  authority; 
but  the  duke  had  not  courage  to  do  it. 

M.  de  Courtornieu  encouraged  him.  He  admitted 
that  all  this  was  very  unfortunate,  but  declared,  since 
the  wine  had  been  drawn,  that  it  was  necessary  to  drink 
it,  and  that  one  could  not  draw  back  now  without  caus- 
ing a  terrible  scandal. 

The  next  day  the  dismal  rolling  of  drums  was  again 
heard,  and  the  six  doomed  men,  two  of  whom  were 
known  to  be  innocent,  were  led  outside  the  walls  of  the 
citadel  and  shot,  on  the  same  spot  where,  only  a  week 
before,  fourteen  of  their  comrades  had  fallen. 

And  the  prime  mover  in  the  conspiracy  had  not  yet 
been  tried. 

Confined  in  the  cell  next  to  that  which  Chanlouineau 
had  occupied,  Lacheneur  had  fallen  into  a  state  of 
gloomy  despondency,  which  lasted  during  his  whole 
term  of  imprisonment.  He  was  terribly  broken,  both 
in  body  and  in  mind. 

Once  only  did  the  blood  mount  to  his  pallid  cheek, 
and  that  was  on  the  morning  when  the  Due  de  Sair- 
meuse entered  the  cell  to  interrogate  him. 


344         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  It  was  you  who  drove  me  to  do  what  I  did,"  he  said. 
"  God  sees  us,  and  judges  us  !  " 

Unhappy  man !  his  faults  had  been  great ;  his  chas- 
tisement was  terrible. 

He  had  sacrificed  his  children  on  the  altar  of  his 
wounded  pride;  he  had  not  even  the  consolation  of 
pressing  them  to  his  heart  and  of  asking  their  forgive- 
ness before  he  died. 

Alone  in  his  cell  he  could  not  distract  his  mind 
from  thoughts  of  his  son  and  of  his  daughter ;  but  such 
was  the  terrible  situation  in  which  he  had  placed  him- 
self that  he  dared  not  ask  what  had  become  of  them. 

Through  a  compassionate  keeper,  he  learned  that 
nothing  had  been  heard  of  Jean,  and  that  it  was  sup- 
posed Marie-Anne  had  gone  to  some  foreign  country 
with  the  D'Escorval  family. 

When  summoned  before  the  court  for  trial,  Lache- 
neur  was  calm  and  dignified  in  manner.  He  attempted 
no  defence,  but  responded  with  perfect  frankness.  He 
took  all  the  blame  upon  himself,  and  would  not  give 
the  name  of  one  of  his  accomplices. 

Condemned  to  be  beheaded,  he  was  executed  on  the 
following  day.  In  spite  of  the  rain,  he  desired  to  walk 
to  the  place  of  execution.  When  he  reached  the  scaf- 
fold, he  ascended  the  steps  with  a  firm  tread,  and,  of 
his  own  accord,  placed  his  head  upon  the  block. 

A  few  seconds  later,  the  rebellion  of  the  4th  of 
March  counted  its  twenty-first  victim. 

And  that  same  evening  the  people  everywhere  were 
talking  of  the  magnificent  rewards  which  were  to  be 
bestowed  upon  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  and  the  Mar- 
quis de  Courtornieu ;  and  it  was  also  asserted  that  the 
nuptials  of  the  children  of  these  great  houses  were  to 
take  place  before  the  close  of  the  week. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME         345 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

That  Martial  de  Sairmeuse  was  to  marry  Mile. 
Blanche  de  Courtornieu  did  not  surprise  the  inhabi- 
tants of  Montaignac  in  the  least. 

But  spreading  such  a  report,  with  Lacheneur's 
execution  fresh  in  the  minds  of  everyone,  could  not 
fail  to  bring  odium  upon  these  men  who  had  held  ab- 
solute power,  and  who  had  exercised  it  so  mercilessly. 

Heaven  knows  that  M.  de  Courtornieu  and  the 
Due  de  Sairmeuse  were  now  doing  their  best  to  make 
the  people  of  Montaignac  forget  the  atrocious  cruelty 
of  which  they  had  been  guilty  during  their  dictatorship. 

Of  the  hundred  or  more  who  were  confined  in 
the  citadel,  only  eighteen  or  twenty  were  tried,  and 
they  received  only  some  very  slight  punishment;  the 
others  were  released. 

Major  Carini,  the  leader  of  the  conspirators  in  Mon- 
taignac, who  had  expected  to  lose  his  head,  heard  him- 
self, with  astonishment,  sentenced  to  two  years'  impris- 
onment. 

But  there  are  crimes  which  nothing  can  efface  or 
extenuate.  Public  opinion  attributed  this  sudden  clem- 
ency on  the  part  of  the  duke  and  the  marquis  to  fear. 

People  execrated  them  for  their  cruelty,  and  despised 
them  for  their  apparent  cowardice. 

They  were  ignorant  of  this,  however,  and  hastened 
forward  the  preparations  for  the  nuptials  of  their  chil- 
dren, without  suspecting  that  the  marriage  was  con- 
sidered a  shameless  defiance  of  public  sentiment  on 
their  part. 

The  1 7th  of  April  was  the  day  which  had  been 
appointed  for  the  bridal,  and  the  wedding-feast  was 


346         THE  HONOR  'OF  THE  NAME 

to  be  held  at  the  Chateau  de  Sairmeuse,  which,  at  a 
great  expense,  had  been  transformed  into  a  fairy  palace 
for  the  occasion. 

It  was  in  the  church  of  the  little  village  of  Sairmeuse, 
on  the  loveliest  of  spring  days,  that  this  marriage  cere- 
mony was  performed  by  the  cure  who  had  taken  the 
place  of  poor  Abbe  Midon. 

At  the  close  of  the  address  to  the  newly  wedded  pair, 
the  priest  uttered  these  words,  which  he  believed  pro- 
phetic : 

"  You  will  be,  you  must  be  happy !  " 

Who  would  not  have  believed  as  he  did?  Where 
could  two  young  people  be  found  more  richly  dowered 
with  all  the  attributes  likely  to  produce  happiness,  i.e., 
youth,  rank,  health,  and  riches. 

But  though  an  intense  joy  sparkled  in  the  eyes  of  the 
new  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse,  there  were  those  among  the 
guests  who  observed  the  bridegroom's  preoccupation. 
One  might  have  supposed  that  he  was  making  an 
effort  to  drive  away  some  gloomy  thought. 

At  the  moment  when  his  young  wife  hung  upon  his 
arm,  proud  and  radiant,  a  vision  of  Marie-Anne  rose 
before  him,  more  life-like,  more  potent  than  ever. 

What  had  become  of  her  that  she  had  not  been  seen 
at  the  time  of  her  father's  execution  ?  Courageous  as 
he  knew  her  to  be,  if  she  had  made  no  attempt  to  see 
her  father,  it  must  have  been  because  she  was  ignorant 
of  his  approaching  doom. 

"  Ah !  if  she  had  but  loved  him,"  Martial  thought, 
"  what  happiness  would  have  been  his.  But,  now  he 
was  bound  for  life  to  a  woman  whom  he  did  not  love." 

At  dinner,  however,  he  succeeded  in  shaking  off  the 
sadness  that  oppressed  him,  and  when  the  guests  rose 
to  repair  to  the  drawing-rooms,  he  had  almost  forgot- 
ten his  dark  forebodings. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    347 

He  was  rising  in  his  turn,  when  a  servant  ap- 
proached him  with  a  mysterious  air. 

"  Someone  desires  to  see  the  marquis,"  whispered 
the  valet. 

"  Who?  " 

"  A  young  peasant  who  will  not  give  his  name." 

"  On  one's  wedding-day,  one  must  grant  an  audience 
to  everybody,"  said  Martial. 

And  gay  and  smiling  he  descended  the  staircase. 

In  the  vestibule,  lined  with  rare  and  fragrant  plants, 
stood  a  young  man.  He  was  very  pale,  and  his  eyes 
glittered  with  feverish  brilliancy. 

On  recognizing  him  Martial  could  not  restrain  an 
exclamation  of  surprise. 

"  Jean  Lacheneur !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  imprudent 
man !  " 

The  young  man  stepped  forward. 

"  You  believed  that  you  were  rid  of  me,"  he  said, 
bitterly.  "  Instead,  I  return  from  afar.  You  can  have 
your  people  arrest  me  if  you  choose." 

Martial's  face  crimsoned  at  the  insult;  but  he  re- 
tained his  composure. 

"  What  do  you  desire  ?  "  he  asked,  coldly. 

Jean  drew  from  his  pocket  a  folded  letter. 

"  I  am  to  give  you  this  on  behalf  of  Maurice  d'Escor- 
val." 

With  an  eager  hand,  Martial  broke  the  seal.  He 
glanced  over  the  letter,  turned  as  pale  as  death,  stag- 
gered and  said  only  one  word. 

"  Infamous !  " 

"  What  must  I  say  to  Maurice  ?  "  insisted  Jean. 
"  What  do  you  intend  to  do?  " 

With  a  terrible  effort  Martial  had  conquered  his 
weakness.  He  seemed  to  deliberate  for  ten  seconds, 


348        THE   HONOR   OF   THE    NAME 

then  seizing  Jean's  arm,  he  dragged  him  up  the  stair- 
case, saying: 

"  Come — you  shall  see." 

Martial's  countenance  had  changed  so  much  during 
the  three  minutes  he  had  been  absent  that  there  was  an 
exclamation  of  terror  when  he  reappeared,  holding 
an  open  letter  in  one  hand  and  leading  with  the  other 
a  young  peasant  whom  no  one  recognized. 

"Where  is  my  father?"  he  demanded,  in  a  husky 
voice ;  "  where  is  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  ?  " 

The  duke  and  the  marquis  were  with  Mme.  Blanche 
in  the  little  salon  at  the  end  of  the  main  hall. 

Martial  hastened  there,  followed  by  a  crowd  of  won- 
dering guests,  who,  foreseeing  a  stormy  scene,  were 
determined  not  to  lose  a  syllable. 

He  walked  directly  to  M.  de  Courtornieu,  who  was 
standing  by  the  fireplace,  and  handing  him  the  letter : 

"  Read !  "  said  he,  in  a  terrible  voice. 

M.  de  Courtornieu  obeyed.  He  became  livid;  the 
paper  trembled  in  his  hands ;  his  eyes  fell,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  lean  against  the  marble  mantel  for  support. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  he  stammered :  "  no,  I  do 
not  understand." 

The  duke  and  Mme.  Blanche  both  sprang  forward. 

"  What  is  it?  "  they  asked  in  a  breath;  "  what  has 
happened  ?  " 

With  a  rapid  movement,  Martial  tore  the  paper  from 
the  hands  of  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu,  and  address- 
ing his  father : 

"  Listen  to  this  letter,"  he  said,  imperiously. 

Three  hundred  people  were  assembled  there,  but  the 
silence  was  so  profound  that  the  voice  of  the  young 
marquis  penetrated  to  the  farthest  extremity  of  the 
hall  as  he  read : 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    349 

"  MONSIEUR  LE  MARQUIS — In  exchange  for  a  dozen 
lines  that  threatened  you  with  ruin,  you  promised  us, 
upon  the  honor  of  your  name,  the  life  of  Baron 
d'Escorval. 

"  You  did,  indeed,  bring  the  ropes  by  which  he  was 
to  make  his  escape,  but  they  had  been  previously  cut, 
and  my  father  was  precipitated  to  the  rocks  below. 

"  You  have  forfeited  your  honor,  Monsieur.  You 
have  soiled  your  name  with  ineffaceable  opprobrium. 
While  so  much  as  a  drop  of  blood  remains  in  my  veins, 
I  will  leave  no  means  untried  to  punish  you  for  your 
cowardice  and  vile  treason. 

"  By  killing  me  you  would,  it  is  true,  escape  the  chas- 
tisement I  am  reserving  for  you.  Consent  to  fight 
with  me.  Shall  I  await  you  to-morrow  on  the  Reche  ? 
At  what  hour  ?  With  what  weapons  ? 

"  If  you  are  the  vilest  of  men,  you  can  appoint  a 
rendezvous,  and  then  send  your  gendarmes  to  arrest 
me.  That  would  be  an  "act  worthy  of  you. 

"  MAURICE  D'ESCORVAL." 

The  duke  was  in  despair.  He  saw  the  secret  of  the 
baron's  flight  made  public — his  political  prospects 
ruined. 

"  Hush !  "  he  said,  hurriedly,  and  in  a  low  voice ; 
"  hush,  wretched  man,  you  will  ruin  us !  " 

But  Martial  seemed  not  even  to  hear  him.  When 
he  had  finished  his  reading: 

"  Now,  what  do  you  think  ?  "  he  demanded,  looking 
the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  full  in  the  face. 

"  I  am  still  unable  to  comprehend,"  said  the  old 
nobleman,  coldly. 

Martial  lifted  his  hand;  everyone  believed  that  he 
was  about  to  strike  the  man  who  had  been  his  father- 
in-law  only  a  few  hours. 


350        THE   HONOR   OF   THE    NAME 

"  Very  well !  /  comprehend !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I 
know  now  who  that  officer  was  who  entered  the  room 
in  which  I  had  deposited  the  ropes — and  I  know  what 
took  him  there." 

He  crumbled  the  letter  between  his  hands  and 
threw  it  in  M.  de  Courtornieu's  face,  saying: 

"  Here  is  your  reward — coward !  " 

Overwhelmed  by  this  denouement  the  marquis  sank 
into  an  arm-chair,  and  Martial,  still  holding  Jean  La- 
cheneur  by  the  arm,  was  leaving  the  room,  when  his 
young  wife,  wild  with  despair,  tried  to  detain  him. 

"  You  shall  not  go !  "  she  exclaimed,  intensely  ex- 
asperated ;  "  you  shall  not !  Where  are  you  going  ?  To 
rejoin  the  sister  of  the  man,  whom  I  now  recognize  ?  " 

Beside  himself,  Martial  pushed  his  wife  roughly 
aside. 

"  Wretch !  "  said  he,  "  how  dare  you  insult  the  no- 
blest and  purest  of  women?  Ah,  well — yes — I  am 
going  to  find  Marie- Anne.  Farewell !  " 

And  he  passed  on. 

CHAPTER   XXXV 

The  ledge  of  rock  upon  which  Baron  d'Escorval  and 
Corporal  Bavois  rested  in  their  descent  from  the  tower 
was  very  narrow. 

In  the  widest  place  it  did  not  measure  more  than  a 
yard  and  a  half,  and  its  surface  was  uneven,  cut  by  in- 
numerable fissures  and  crevices,  and  sloped  suddenly 
at  the  edge.  To  stand  there  in  the  daytime,  with  the 
wall  of  the  tower  behind  one,  and  the  precipice  at  one's 
feet,  would  have  been  considered  very  imprudent. 

Of  course,  the  task  of  lowering  a  man  from  this 
ledge,  at  dead  of  night,  was  perilous  in  the  extreme. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    351 

Before  allowing  the  baron  to  descend,  honest  Bavois 
took  every  possible  precaution  to  save  himself  from 
being  dragged  over  the  verge  of  the  precipice  by  the 
weight  he  would  be  obliged  to  sustain. 

He  placed  his  crowbar  firmly  in  a  crevice  of  the 
rock,  then  bracing  his  feet  against  the  bar,  he  seated 
himself  firmly,  throwing  his  shoulders  well  back,  and 
it  was  only  when  he  was  sure  of  his  position  that  he  said 
to  the  baron : 

"  I  am  here  and  firmly  fixed,  comrade ;  now  let  your- 
self down." 

The  sudden  parting  of  the  rope  hurled  the  brave 
corporal  rudely  against  the  tower  wall,  then  he  was 
thrown  forward  by  the  rebound. 

His  unalterable  sang-froid  was  all  that  saved  him. 

For  more  than  a  minute  he  hung  suspended  over  the 
abyss  into  which  the  baron  had  just  fallen,  and  his 
hands  clutched  at  the  empty  air. 

A  hasty  movement,  and  he  would  have  fallen. 

But  he  possessed  a  marvellous  power  of  will,  which 
prevented  him  from  attempting  any  violent  effort. 
Prudently,  but  with  determined  energy,  he  screwed  his 
feet  and  his  knees  into  the  crevices  of  the  rock,  feeling 
with  his  hands  for  some  point  of  support,  and  gradual- 
ly sinking  to  one  side,  he  finally  succeeded  in  dragging 
himself  from  the  verge  of  the  precipice. 

It  was  time,  for  a  cramp  seized  him  with  such  vio- 
lence that  he  was  obliged  to  sit  down  and  rest  for  a 
moment. 

That  the  baron  had  been  killed  by  his  fall,  Bavois  did 
not  doubt  for  an  instant.  But  this  catastrophe  did  not 
produce  much  effect  upon  the  old  soldier,  who  had  seen 
so  many  comrades  fall  by  his  side  on  the  field  of  battle. 

\Yhat  did  amaze  him  was  the  breaking  of  the  rope — 


352         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

a  rope  so  large  that  one  would  have  supposed  it  capable 
of  sustaining  the  weight  of  ten  men  like  the  baron. 

As  he  could  not,  by  reason  of  the  darkness,  see  the 
ruptured  place,  Bavois  felt  it  with  his  finger;  and,  to 
his  inexpressible  astonishment,  he  found  it  smooth. 
No  filaments,  no  rough  bits  of  hemp,  as  usual  after  a 
break ;  the  surface  was  perfectly  even. 

The  corporal  comprehended  what  Maurice  had  com- 
prehended below. 

"  The  scoundrels  have  cut  the  rope !  "  he  exclaimed, 
with  a  frightful  oath. 

And  a  recollection  of  what  had  happened  three  or 
four  hours  previous  arose  in  his  mind. 

"  This,"  he  thought,  "  explains  the  noise  which  the 
poor  baron  heard  in  the  next  room !  And  I  said  to 
him  :  '  Nonsense  !  it  is  a  rat ! ' ' 

Then  he  thought  of  a  very  simple  method  of  verify- 
ing his  conjectures.  He  passed  the  cord  about  the 
crowbar  and  pulled  it  with  all  his  strength.  It  parted 
in  three  places. 

This  discovery  appalled  him. 

A  part  of  the  rope  had  fallen  with  the  unfortunate 
baron,  and  it  was  evident  that  the  remaining  frag- 
ments tied  together  would  not  be  long  enough  to  reach 
to  the  base  of  the  rock. 

From  this  isolated  ledge  it  was  impossible  to  reach 
the  ground  upon  which  the  citadel  was  built. 

"  You  are  in  a  fine  fix,  Corporal,"  he  growled. 

Honest  Bavois  looked  the  situation  full  in  the  face, 
and  saw  that  it  was  desperate. 

"  Well,  Corporal,  your  jig  is  up !  "  he  murmured. 
"At  daybreak  they  will  find  that  the  baron's  cell  is 
empty.  They  will  poke  their  heads  out  of  the  window, 
and  they  will  see  you  here,  like  a  stone  saint  upon  his 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    353 

pedestal.  Naturally,  you  will  be  captured,  tried,  con- 
demned :  and  you  will  be  led  out  to  take  your  turn  in 
the  ditches.  Ready !  Aim !  Fire !  And  that  will  be 
the  end  of  your  story." 

He  shopped  short.  A  vague  idea  had  entered  his 
mind,  which  he  felt  might  possibly  be  his  salvation. 

It  came  to  him  in  touching  the  rope  which  he  had 
used  in  his  descent  from  the  prison  to  the  ledge,  and 
which,  firmly  attached  to  the  bars,  hung  down  the  side 
of  the  tower. 

"  If  you  had  that  rope  which  hangs  there  useless, 
Corporal,  you  could  add  it  to  these  fragments,  and  then 
it  would  be  long  enough  to  carry  you  to  the  foot  of  the 
rock.  But  how  shall  I  obtain  it?  It  is  certainly  im- 
possible to  go  back  after  it !  and  how  can  I  pull  it  down 
when  it  is  so  securely  fastened  to  the  bars  ?  " 

He  sought  a  way,  found  it,  and  pursued  it,  talking  to 
himself  all  the  while  as  if  there  were  two  corporals; 
one  prompt  to  conceive,  the  other,  a  trifle  stupid,  to 
whom  it  was  necessary  to  explain  everything  in  detail. 

"Attention,  Corporal,"  said  he.  "  You  are  going  to 
knot  these  five  pieces  of  rope  together  and  attach  them 
to  your  waist ;  then  you  are  going  to  climb  up  to  that 
window,  hand  over  hand.  Not  an  easy  matter!  A 
carpeted  staircase  is  preferable  to  that  rope  dangling 
there.  But  no  matter,  you  are  not  finical,  Corporal! 
So  you  climb  it,  and  here  you  are  in  the  cell  again. 
What  are  you  going  to  do?  A  mere  nothing.  You 
are  unfastening  the  cord  attached  to  the  bars ;  you  will 
tie  it  to  this,  and  that  will  give  you  eighty  feet  of  good 
strong  rope.  Then  you  will  pass  the  rope  about  one 
of  the  bars  that  remain  intact ;  the  rope  will  thus  be 
doubled ;  then  you  let  yourself  down  again,  and  when 
you  are  here,  you  have  only  to  untie  one  of  the  knots, 
23 


354         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

and  the  rope  is  at  your  service.  Do  you  understand, 
Corporal  ?  " 

The  corporal  did  understand  so  well  that  in  less  than 
twenty  minutes  he  was  back  again  upon  the  narrow 
shelf  of  rock,  the  difficult  and  dangerous  operation 
which  he  had  planned  accomplished. 

Not  without  a  terrible  effort ;  not  without  torn  and 
bleeding  hands  and  knees. 

But  he  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  rope,  and  now 
he  was  certain  that  he  could  make  his  escape  from  his 
dangerous  position.  He  laughed  gleefully,  or  rather 
with  that  chuckle  which  was  habitual  to  him. 

Anxiety,  then  joy,  had  made  him  forget  M.  d'Escor- 
val.  At  the  thought  of  him,  he  was  smitten  with  re- 
morse. 

"  Poor  man !  "  he  murmured.  "  I  shall  succeed  in 
saving  my  miserable  life,  for  which  no  one  cares,  but  I 
was  unable  to  save  him.  Undoubtedly,  by  this  time 
his  friends  have  carried  him  away." 

As  he  uttered  these  words  he  was  leaning  over  the 
abyss.  He  doubted  the  evidence  of  his  own  senses 
when  he  saw  a  faint  light  moving  here  and  there  in  the 
depths  below. 

What  had  happened  ?  For  something  very  extraor- 
dinary must  have  happened  to  induce  intelligent  men 
like  the  baron's  friends  to  display  this  light,  which,  if 
observed  from  the  citadel,  would  betray  their  presence 
and  ruin  them. 

But  Corporal  Bavois's  moments  were  too  precious 
to  be  wasted  in  idle  conjectures. 

"  Better  go  down  on  the  double-quick,"  he  said 
aloud,  as  if  to  spur  on  his  courage.  "  Come,  my  friend, 
spit  on  your  hands  and  be  off !  " 

As  he  spoke  the  old  soldier  threw  himself  flat  on  his 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    355 

belly  and  crawled  slowly  backward  to  the  verge  of  the 
precipice.  The  spirit  was  strong,  but  the  flesh  shud- 
dered. To  march  upon  a  battery  had  always  been  a 
mere  pastime  to  the  worthy  corporal ;  but  to  face  an 
unknown  peril,  to  suspend  one's  life  upon  a  cord,  was 
a  different  matter. 

Great  drops  of  perspiration,  caused  by  the  horror  of 
his  situation,  stood  out  upon  his  brow  when  he  felt  that 
half  his  body  had  passed  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  and 
that  the  slightest  movement  would  now  launch  him 
into  space. 

He  made  this  movement,  murmuring: 

"  If  there  is  a  God  who  watches  over  honest  people 
let  Him  open  His  eyes  this  instant !  " 

The  God  of  the  just  was  watching. 

Bavois  arrived  at  the  end  of  his  dangerous  journey 
with  torn  and  bleeding  hands,  but  safe. 

He  fell  like  a  mass  of  rock ;  and  the  rudeness  of  the 
shock  drew  from  him  a  groan  resembling  the  roar  of 
an  infuriated  beast. 

For  more  than  a  minute  he  lay  there  upon  the  ground 
stunned  and  dizzy. 

When  he  rose  two  men  seized  him  roughly. 

"  Ah,  no  foolishness,"  he  said  quickly.  "  It  is  I, 
Bavois." 

This  did  not  cause  them  to  relax  their  hold. 

"  How  does  it  happen,"  demanded  one,  in  a  threat- 
ening tone,  "  that  Baron  d'Escorval  falls  and  you  suc- 
ceed in  making  the  descent  in  safety  a  few  moments 
later?" 

The  old  soldier  was  too  shrewd  not  to  understand 
the  whole  import  of  this  insulting  question. 

The  sorrow  and  indignation  aroused  within  him  gave 
him  strength  to  free  himself  from  the  hands  of  his 
captors. 


356        THE   HONOR   OF   THE    NAME 

"  Milk  tonnerres! "  he  exclaimed,  "  so  I  pass  for  a 
traitor,  do  I !  No,  it  is  impossible — listen  to  me." 

Then  rapidly,  but  with  surprising  clearness,  he  re- 
lated all  the  details  of  his  escape,  his  despair,  his  peril- 
ous situation,  and  the  almost  insurmountable  obstacles 
which  he  had  overcome.  To  hear  was  to  believe. 

The  men — they  were,  of  course,  the  retired  army 
officers  who  had  been  waiting  for  the  baron — offered 
the  honest  corporal  their  hands,  sincerely  sorry  that 
they  had  wounded  the  feelings  of  a  man  who  was  so 
worthy  of  their  respect  and  gratitude. 

"  You  will  forgive  us,  Corporal,"  they  said,  sadly. 
"  Misery  renders  men  suspicious  and  unjust,  and  we 
are  very  unhappy." 

"  No  offence,"  he  growled.  "  If  I  had  trusted  poor 
Monsieur  d'Escorval,  he  would  be  alive  now." 

"  The  baron  still  breathes,"  said  one  of  the  officers. 

This  was  such  astounding  news  that  Bavois  was 
utterly  confounded  for  a  moment. 

"  Ah !  I  will  give  my  right  hand,  if  necessary,  to 
save  him !  "  he  exclaimed,  at  last. 

"  If  it  is  possible  to  save  him,  he  will  be  saved,  my 
friend.  That  worthy  priest  whom  you  see  there,  is  an 
excellent  physician.  He  is  examining  Monsieur  d'Es- 
corval's  wounds  now.  It  was  by  his  order  that  we  pro- 
cured and  lighted  this  candle,  which  may  bring  our 
enemies  upon  us  at  any  moment ;  but  this  is  not  a 
time  for  hesitation." 

Bavois  looked  with  all  his  eyes,  but  from  where  he 
was  standing  he  could  discover  only  a  confused  group 
of  moving  figures. 

"  I  would  like  to  see  the  poor  man,"  he  said,  sadly. 

"  Come  nearer,  my  good  fellow  ;  fear  nothing !  " 

He  stepped  forward,  and  by  the  flickering  light  of 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   357 

the  candle  which  Marie-Anne  held,  he  saw  a  spectacle 
which  moved  him  more  than  the  horrors  of  the  blood- 
iest battle-field. 

The  baron  was  lying  upon  the  ground,  his  head  sup- 
ported on  Mme.  d'Escorval's  knee. 

His  face  was  not  disfigured ;  but  he  was  pale  as 
death  itself,  and  his  eyes  were  closed. 

At  intervals  a  convulsive  shudder  shook  his  frame, 
and  a  stream  of  blood  gushed  from  his  mouth. 

His  clothing  was  hacked — literally  hacked  in  pieces ; 
and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  his  body  had  sustained  many 
frightful  wounds. 

Kneeling  beside  the  unconscious  man,  Abbe  Midon, 
with  admirable  dexterity,  was  stanching  the  blood 
and  applying  bandages  which  had  been  torn  from  the 
linen  of  those  present. 

Maurice  and  one  of  the  officers  were  assisting  him. 

"  Ah !  if  I  had  my  hands  on  the  scoundrel  who  cut 
the  rope,"  cried  the  corporal,  in  a  passion  of  indigna- 
tion ;  "  but  patience.  I  shall  have  him  yet." 

"  Do  you  know  who  it  was  ?  " 

"  Only  too  well !  " 

He  said  no  more.  The  abbe  had  done  all  it  was  pos- 
sible to  do,  and  he  now  lifted  the  wounded  man  a  little 
higher  on  Mme.  d'Escorval's  knee. 

This  change  of  position  elicited  a  moan  that  betrayed 
the  unfortunate  baron's  intense  sufferings.  He  opened 
his  eyes  and  faltered  a  few  words — they  were  the  first 
he  had  uttered. 

"  Firmin  !  "  he  murmured,  "  Firmin  !  " 

It  was  the  name  of  the  baron's  former  secretary,  a 
man  who  had  been  absolutely  devoted  to  his  master, 
but  who  had  been  dead  for  several  years. 

It  was  evident  that  the  baron's  mind  was  wander- 


358        THE   HONOR    OF   THE   NAME 

ing.  Still  he  had  some  vague  idea  of  his  terrible  situ- 
ation, for  in  a  stifled,  almost  inaudible  voice,  he  added : 

"  Oh !  how  I  suffer !  Firmin,  I  will  not  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  alive.  You 
shall  kill  me  rather — do  you  hear  me?  I  command 
it." 

This  was  all;  then  his  eyes  closed  again,  and  his 
head  fell  back  a  dead  weight.  One  would  have  sup- 
posed that  he  had  yielded  up  his  last  sigh. 

Such  was  the  opinion  of  the  officers ;  and  it  was  with 
poignant  anxiety  they  drew  the  abbe  a  little  aside. 

"  Is  it  all  over  ?  "  they  asked.     "  Is  there  any  hope  ?  " 

The  priest  sadly  shook  his  head,  and  pointing  to 
heaven : 

"  My  hope  is  in  God !  "  he  said,  reverently. 

The  hour,  the  place,  the  terrible  catastrophe,  the 
present  danger,  the  threatening  future,  all  combined  to 
lend  a  deep  solemnity  to  the  words  of  the  priest. 

So  profound  was  the  impression  that,  for  more  than 
a  minute,  these  men,  familiar  with  peril  and  scenes  of 
horror,  stood  in  awed  silence. 

Maurice,  who  approached,  followed  by  Corporal 
Bavois,  brought  them  back  to  the  exigencies  of  the 
present. 

"  Ought  we  not  to  make  haste  and  carry  away  my 
father?"  he  asked.  "Must  we  not  be  in  Piedmont 
before  evening?  " 

"  Yes ! "  exclaimed  the  officers,  "  let  us  start  at 
once." 

But  the  priest  did  not  move,  and  in  a  despondent 
voice,  he  said : 

"  To  make  any  attempt  to  carry  Monsieur  d'Escorval 
across  the  frontier  in  his  present  condition  would  cost 
him  his  life." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   359 

This  seemed  so  inevitably  a  death-warrant  for  them 
all,  that  they  shuddered. 

"  My  God !  what  shall  we  do  ?  "  faltered  Maurice. 
"  What  course  shall  we  pursue?  " 

Not  a  voice  replied.  It  was  clear  that  they  hoped 
for  salvation  through  the  priest  alone. 

He  was  lost  in  thought,  and  it  was  some  time  before 
he  spoke. 

"  About  an  hour's  walk  from  here,"  he  said,  at  last, 
"  beyond  the  Croix  d'Arcy,  is  the  hut  of  a  peasant  upon 
whom  I  can  rely.  His  name  is  Poignot ;  and  he  was 
formerly  in  Monsieur  Lacheneur's  employ.  With  the 
assistance  of  his  three  sons,  he  now  tills  quite  a  large 
farm.  We  must  procure  a  litter  and  carry  Monsieur 
d'Escorval  to  the  house  of  this  honest  peasant." 

"  What,  Monsieur,"  interrupted  one  of  the  officers, 
"  you  wish  us  to  procure  a  litter  at  this  hour  of  the 
night,  and  in  this  neighborhood  ?  " 

"  It  must  be  done." 

"  But,  will  it  not  awaken  suspicion  ?  " 

"  Most  assuredly." 

"  The  Montaignac  police  will  follow  us." 

"  I  am  certain  of  it." 

"  The  baron  will  be  recaptured  ?  " 

"  No." 

The  abbe  spoke  in  the  tone  of  a  man  who,  by  virtue 
of  assuming  all  the  responsibility,  feels  that  he  has  a 
right  to  be  obeyed. 

"  When  the  baron  has  been  conveyed  to  Poignot's 
house,"  he  continued,  "  one  of  you  gentlemen  will  take 
the  wounded  man's  place  upon  the  litter;  the  others 
will  carry  him,  and  the  party  will  remain  together  until 
it  has  reached  Piedmontese  territory.  Then  you  will 
separate  and  pretend  to  conceal  yourselves,  but  do  it 
in  such  a  way  that  you  are  seen  everywhere." 


360         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

All  present  comprehended  the  priest's  simple  plan. 

They  were  to  throw  the  emissaries  sent  by  the  Due 
de  Sairmeuse  and  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  off  the 
track ;  and  at  the  very  moment  it  was  apparently 
proven  that  the  baron  was  in  the  mountains,  he  would 
be  safe  in  Poignot's  house. 

"  One  word  more,"  added  the  priest.  "  It  will  be 
necessary  to  make  the  cortege  which  accompanies  the 
pretended  baron  resemble  as  much  as  possible  the  lit- 
tle party  that  would  be  likely  to  attend  Monsieur  d'Es- 
corval.  Mademoiselle  Lacheneur  will  accompany 
you;  Maurice  also.  People  know  that  I  would  not 
leave  the  baron,  who  is  my  friend ;  my  priestly  robe 
would  attract  attention ;  one  of  you  must  assume  it. 
God  will  forgive  this  deception  on  account  of  its  worthy 
motive. 

It  was  now  necessary  to  procure  the  litter ;  and  the 
officers  were  trying  to  decide  where  they  should  go  to 
obtain  it,  when  Corporal  Bavois  interrupted  them. 

"  Give  yourselves  no  uneasiness,"  he  remarked ;  "  I 
know  an  inn  not  far  from  here  where  I  can  procure 
one." 

He  departed  on  the  run,  and  five  minutes  later  re- 
appeared with  a  small  litter,  a  thin  mattress,  and  a 
coverlid.  He  had  thought  of  everything. 

The  wounded  man  was  lifted  carefully  and  placed 
upon  the  mattress. 

A  long  and  difficult  operation  which,  in  spite  of  ex- 
treme caution,  drew  many  terrible  groans  from  the 
baron. 

When  all  was  ready,  each  officer  took  an  end  of  the 
litter,  and  the  little  procession,  headed  by  the  abbe, 
started  on  its  way.  They  were  obliged  to  proceed 
slowly  on  account  of  the  suffering  which  the  least 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    361 

jolting  inflicted  upon  the  baron.  Still  they  made  some 
progress,  and  by  daybreak  they  were  about  half  way  to 
Poignot's  house. 

It  was  then  that  they  met  some  peasants  going  to 
their  daily  toil.  Both  men  and  women  paused  to  look 
at  them,  and  when  the  little  cortege  had  passed  they  still 
stood  gazing  curiously  after  these  people  who  were  ap- 
parently carrying  a  dead  body. 

The  priest  did  not  seem  to  trouble  himself  in  regard 
to  these  encounters ;  at  least,  he  made  no  attempt  to 
avoid  them. 

But  he  did  seem  anxious  and  cautious  when,  after  a 
three  hours'  march,  they  came  in  sight  of  Poignot's 
cottage. 

Fortunately  there  was  a  little  grove  not  far  from  the 
house.  The  abbe  made  the  party  enter  it,  recommend- 
ing the  strictest  prudence,  while  he  went  on  in  ad- 
vance to  confer  with  this  man,  upon  whose  decision  the 
safety  of  the  whole  party  depended. 

As  the  priest  approached  the  house,  a  small,  thin 
man,  with  gray  hair  and  a  sunburned  face  emerged 
from  the  stable. 

It  was  Father  Poignot. 

"  What !  is  this  you,  Monsieur  le  Cure !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, delightedly.  "  Heavens !  how  pleased  my 
wife  will  be.  We  have  a  great  favor  to  ask  of  you " 

And  then,  without  giving  the  abbe  an  opportunity  to 
open  his  lips,  he  began  to  tell  him  his  perplexities.  The 
night  of  the  revolt  he  had  given  shelter  to  a  poor  man 
who  had  received  an  ugly  sword-thrust.  Neither  his 
wife  nor  himself  knew  how  to  dress  the  wound,  and  he 
dared  not  call  in  a  physician. 

"  And  this  wounded  man,"  he  added,  "  is  Jean  La- 
cheneur,  the  son  of  my  former  employer." 


362         THE  HONOR   OF  THE  NAME 

A  terrible  anxiety  seized  the  priest's  heart. 

Would  this  man,  who  had  already  given  an  asylum 
to  one  wounded  conspirator,  consent  to  receive  an- 
other ? 

The  abbe's  voice  trembled  as  he  made  known  his 
petition. 

The  farmer  turned  very  pale  and  shook  his  head 
gravely,  while  the  priest  was  speaking.  When  the  abbe 
had  finished : 

"  Do  you  know,  sir,"  he  asked,  coldly,  "  that  I  incur 
a  great  risk  by  converting  my  house  into  a  hospital  for 
these  rebels  ?  " 

The  abbe  dared  not  answer. 

"  They  told  me,"  Father  Poignot  continued,  "  that  I 
was  a  coward,  because  I  would  not  take  part  in  the 
revolt.  Such  was  not  my  opinion.  Now  I  choose  to 
shelter  these  wounded  men — I  shelter  them.  In  my 
opinion,  it  requires  quite  as  much  courage  as  it  does  to 
go  and  fight." 

"  Ah  !  you  are  a  brave  man  !  "  cried  the  abbe. 

"  I  know  that  very  well !  Bring  Monsieur  d'Es- 
corval.  There  is  no  one  here  but  my  wife  and  boys — 
no  one  will  betray  him !  " 

A  half  hour  later  the  baron  was  lying  in  a  small  loft, 
where  Jean  Lacheneur  was  already  installed. 

From  the  window,  Abbe  Midon  and  Mme.  d'Escorval 
watched  the  little  cortege,  organized  for  the  purpose  of 
deceiving  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse's  spies,  as  it  moved 
rapidly  away. 

Corporal  Bavois,  with  his  head  bound  up  with  blood- 
stained linen,  had  taken  the  baron's  place  upon  the  lit- 
ter. 

This  was  one  of  the  troubled  epochs  in  history  that 
try  men's  souls.  There  is  no  chance  for  hypocrisy ;  each 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   363 

man  stands  revealed  in  his  grandeur,  or  in  his  pettiness 
of  soul. 

Certainly  much  cowardice  was  displayed  during  the 
early  days  of  the  second  Restoration ;  but  many  deeds 
of  sublime  courage  and  devotion  were  performed. 

These  officers  who  befriended  Mme.  d'Escorval  and 
Maurice — who  lent  their  aid  to  the  abbe — knew  the 
baron  only  by  name  and  reputation. 

It  was  sufficient  for  them  to  know  that  he  was  the 
friend  of  their  former  ruler — the  man  whom  they  had 
made  their  idol,  and  they  rejoiced  with  all  their  hearts 
when  they  saw  M.  d'Escorval  reposing  under  Father 
Poignot's  roof  in  comparative  security. 

After  this,  their  task,  which  consisted  in  misleading 
the  government  emissaries,  seemed  to  them  mere  child's 
play. 

But  all  these  precautions  were  unnecessary.  Public 
sentiment  had  declared  itself  in  an  unmistakable  man- 
ner, and  it  was  evident  that  Lacheneur's  hopes  had  not 
been  without  some  foundation. 

The  police  discovered  nothing,  not  so  much  as  a  single 
detail  of  the  escape.  They  did  not  even  hear  of  the  little 
party  that  had  travelled  nearly  three  leagues  in  the  full 
light  of  day,  bearing  a  wounded  man  upon  a  litter. 

Among  the  two  thousand  peasants  who  believed  that 
this  wounded  man  was  Baron  d'Escorval,  there  was  not 
one  who  turned  informer  or  let  drop  an  indiscreet  word. 

But  on  approaching  the  frontier,  which  they  knew  to 
be  strictly  guarded,  the  fugitives  became  even  more 
cautious. 

They  waited  until  nightfall  before  presenting  them- 
selves at  a  lonely  inn,  where  they  hoped  to  procure  a 
guide  to  lead  them  through  the  defiles  of  the  moun- 
tains. 


364         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

Frightful  news  awaited  them  there.  The  innkeeper 
informed  them  of  the  bloody  massacre  at  Montaignac. 

With  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks,  he  related  the  de- 
tails of  the  execution,  which  he  had  heard  from  an  eye- 
witness. 

Fortunately,  or  unfortunately,  he  knew  nothing  of  M. 
d'Escorval's  flight  or  of  M.  Lacheneur's  arrest. 

But  he  was  well  acquainted  with  Chanlouineau,  and 
he  was  inconsolable  over  the  death  of  that  "  handsome 
young  fellow,  the  best  farmer  in  the  country." 

The  officers,  who  had  left  the  litter  a  short  distance 
from  the  inn,  decided  that  they  could  confide  at  least  a 
part  of  their  secret  to  this  man. 

"  We  are  carrying  one  of  our  wounded  comrades," 
they  said  to  him.  "  Can  you  guide  us  across  the  frontier 
to-night  ?  " 

The  innkeeper  replied  that  he  would  do  so  very  will- 
ingly, that  he  would  promise  to  take  them  safely  past  the 
military  posts;  but  that  he  would  not  think  of  going 
upon  the  mountain  before  the  moon  rose. 

By  midnight  the  fugitives  were  en  route;  by  day- 
break they  set  foot  on  Piedmont  territory. 

They  had  dismissed  their  guide  some  time  before. 
They  now  proceeded  to  break  the  litter  in  pieces ;  and 
handful  by  handful  they  cast  the  wool  of  the  mattress 
to  the  wind. 

"  Our  task  is  accomplished,"  the  officer  said  to  Mau- 
rice. "  We  will  now  return  to  France.  May  God  pro- 
tect you !  Farewell !  " 

It  was  with  tears  in  his  eyes  that  Maurice  saw  these 
brave  men,  who  had  just  saved  his  father's  life,  depart. 
Now  he  was  the  sole  protector  of  Marie-Anne,  who, 
pale  and  overcome  with  fatigue  and  emotion,  trembled 
on  his  arm. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    365 

But  no — Corporal  Bavois  still  lingered  by  his  side. 

"  And  you,  my  friend,"  he  asked,  sadly,  "  what  are 
you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Follow  you,"  replied  the  old  soldier.  "  I  have  a 
right  to  a  home  with  you ;  that  was  agreed  between  your 
father  and  myself!  So  do  not  hurry,  the  young  lady 
does  not  seem  well,  and  I  see  the  village  only  a  short  dis- 
tance away." 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

Essentially  a  woman  in  grace  and  beauty,  as  well  as 
in  devotion  and  tenderness,  Marie-Anne  was  capable  of 
a  virile  bravery.  Her  energy  and  her  coolness  during 
those  trying  days  had  been  the  admiration  and  the  as- 
tonishment of  all  around  her. 

But  human  endurance  has  its  limits.  Always  after 
excessive  efforts  comes  a  moment  when  the  shrinking 
flesh  fails  the  firmest  will. 

When  Marie-Anne  tried  to  begin  her  journey  anew, 
she  found  that  her  strength  was  exhausted  ;  her  swollen 
feet  would  no  longer  sustain  her,  her  limbs  sank  under 
her,  her  head  whirled,  and  an  intense  freezing  coldness 
crept  over  her  heart. 

Maurice  and  the  old  soldier  were  obliged  to  support 
her,  almost  carry  her.  Fortunately  they  were  not  far 
from  the  village,  whose  church-tower  they  had  dis- 
cerned through  the  gray  mists  of  morning. 

Soon  the  fugitives  could  distinguish  the  houses  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  town.  The  corporal  suddenly  stopped 
short  with  an  oath. 

" Mille  tonnerres!"  he  exclaimed;  "and  my  uni- 
form !  To  enter  the  village  in  this  rig  would  excite  sus- 


366         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

picion  at  once ;  before  we  had  a  chance  to  sit  down,  the 
Piedmontese  gendarmes  would  arrest  us." 

He  reflected  for  a  moment,  twirling  his  mustache  fu- 
riously ;  then,  in  a  tone  that  would  have  made  a  passer- 
by tremble,  he  said : 

"  All  things  are  fair  in  love  and  war.  The  next  peas- 
ant who  passes " 

"  But  I  have  money,"  interrupted  Maurice,  unbuck- 
ling a  belt  filled  with  gold,  which  he  had  put  on  under  his 
clothing  on  the  night  of  the  revolt. 

"  Eh !  we  are  fortunate !  "  cried  Bavois.  "  Give  me 
some,  and  I  will  soon  find  some  shop  in  the  suburbs 
where  I  can  purchase  a  change  of  clothing." 

He  departed;  but  it  was  not  long  before  he  reap- 
peared, transformed  by  a  peasant's  costume,  which 
fitted  him  perfectly.  His  small,  thin  face  was  almost 
hidden  beneath  an  immense  broad-brimmed  hat. 

"  Now,  steady,  forward,  march !  "  he  said  to  Maurice 
and  Marie-Anne,  who  scarcely  recognized  him  in  this 
disguise. 

The  town,  which  they  soon  reached,  was  called  Sa- 
liente.  They  read  the  name  upon  a  guide-post. 

The  fourth  house  after  entering  the  place  was  a  hos- 
telry, the  Traveller's  Rest.  They  entered  it,  and  or- 
dered the  hostess  to  take  the  young  lady  to  a  room  and 
to  assist  her  in  disrobing. 

The  order  was  obeyed,  and  Maurice  and  the  corporal 
went  into  the  dining-room  and  ordered  something  to 
eat. 

The  desired  refreshments  were  served,  but  the  glances 
cast  upon  the  guests  were  by  no  means  friendly.  It 
was  evident  that  they  were  regarded  with  suspicion. 

A  large  man,  who  was  apparently  the  proprietor  of 
the  house,  hovered  around  them,  and  at  last  embraced  a 
favorable  opportunity  to  ask  their  names. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    367 

"  My  name  is  Dubois,"  replied  Maurice,  without  the 
slightest  hesitation.  "  I  am  travelling  on  business,  and 
this  man  here  is  my  farmer." 

These  replies  seemed  to  reassure  the  host  a  little. 

"  And  what  is  your  business  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  came  into  this  land  of  inquisitive  people  to  buy 
mules,"  laughed  Maurice,  striking  his  belt  of  money. 

On  hearing  the  jingle  of  the  coin  the  man  lifted  his 
cap  deferentially.  Raising  mules  was  the  chief  industry 
of  the  country.  This  bourgeois  was  very  young,  but  he 
had  a  well-filled  purse,  and  that  was  enough. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,"  resumed  the  host,  in  quite  a 
different  tone.  "  You  see,  we  are  obliged  to  be  very 
careful.  There  has  been  some  trouble  in  Montaignac." 

The  imminence  of  the  peril  and  the  responsibility  de- 
volving upon  him,  gave  Maurice  an  assurance  unusual 
to  him ;  and  it  was  in  the  most  careless,  off-hand  man- 
ner possible  that  he  concocted  a  quite  plausible  story  to 
explain  his  early  arrival  on  foot  accompanied  by  a  sick 
wife.  He  congratulated  himself  upon  his  address,  but 
the  old  corporal  was  far  from  satisfied. 

"  We  are  too  near  the  frontier  to  bivouac  here,"  he 
grumbled.  "  As  soon  as  the  young  lady  is  on  her  feet 
again  we  must  hurry  on." 

He  believed,  and  Maurice  hoped,  that  twenty-four 
hours  of  rest  would  restore  Marie- Anne. 

They  were  mistaken.  The  very  springs  of  life  in  her 
existence  seemed  to  have  been  drained  dry.  She  did  not 
appear  to  suffer,  but  she  remained  in  a  death-like  torpor, 
from  which  nothing  could  arouse  her.  They  spoke  to 
her  but  she  made  no  response.  Did  she  hear  ?  did  she 
comprehend?  It  was  extremely  doubtful. 

By  rare  good  fortune  the  mother  of  the  proprietor 
proved  to  be  a  good,  kind-hearted  old  woman,  who 


368        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

would  not  leave  the  bedside  of  Marie- Anne — of  Mme. 
Dubois,  as  she  was  called  at  the  Traveller's  Rest. 

It  was  not  until  the  evening  of  the  third  day  that  they 
heard  Marie- Anne  utter  a  word. 

"  Poor  girl !  "  she  sighed ;  "  poor,  wretched  girl !  " 

It  was  of  herself  that  she  spoke. 

By  a  phenomenon  not  very  unusual  after  a  crisis  in 
which  reason  has  been  temporarily  obscured,  it  seemed 
to  her  that  it  was  someone  else  who  had  been  the  vic- 
tim of  all  the  misfortunes,  whose  recollections  gradu- 
ally returned  to  her  like  the  memory  of  a  painful 
dream. 

What  strange  and  terrible  events  had  taken  place 
since  that  August  Sabbath,  when,  on  leaving  the  church 
with  her  father,  she  heard  of  the  arrival  of  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse. 

And  that  was  only  eight  months  ago. 

What  a  difference  between  those  days  when  she  lived 
happy  and  envied  in  that  beautiful  Chateau  de  Sair- 
meuse, of  which  she  believed  herself  the  mistress,  and 
at  the  present  time,  when  she  found  herself  lying  in  the 
comfortless  room  of  a  miserable  country  inn,  attended 
by  an  old  woman  whom  she  did  not  know,  and  with  no 
other  protection  than  that  of  an  old  soldier — a  deserter, 
whose  life  was  in  constant  danger — and  that  of  her  pro- 
scribed lover. 

From  this  total  wreck  of  her  cherished  ambitions,  of 
her  hopes,  of  her  fortune,  of  her  happiness,  and  of  her 
future,  she  had  not  even  saved  her  honor. 

But  was  she  alone  responsible?  Who  had  imposed 
upon  her  the  odious  role  which  she  had  played  with 
Maurice,  Martial,  and  Chanlouineau  ? 

As  this  last  name  darted  through  her  mind,  the  scene 
in  the  prison-cell  rose  suddenly  and  vividly  before  her. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    369 

Chanlouineau  had  given  her  a  letter,  saying  as  he  did 
so: 

"  You  will  read  this  when  I  am  no  more." 

She  might  read  it  now  that  he  had  fallen  beneath  the 
bullets  of  the  soldiery.  But  what  had  become  of  it? 
From  the  moment  that  he  gave  it  to  her  until  now  she 
had  not  once  thought  of  it. 

She  raised  herself  in  bed,  and  in  an  imperious  voice : 

"  My  dress,"  she  said  to  the  old  nurse,  seated  beside 
her ;  "  give  me  my  dress." 

The  woman  obeyed ;  with  an  eager  hand  Marie- Anne 
examined  the  pocket. 

She  uttered  an  exclamation  of  joy  on  finding  the  let- 
ter there. 

She  opened  it,  read  it  slowly  twice,  then,  sinking  back 
on  her  pillows,  she  burst  into  tears. 

Maurice  anxiously  approached  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  he  inquired  anxiously. 

She  handed  him  the  letter,  saying :    "  Read." 

Chanlouineau  was  only  a  poor  peasant.  His  entire 
education  had  been  derived  from  an  old  country  peda- 
gogue, whose  school  he  attended  for  three  winters,  and 
who  troubled  himself  much  less  about  the  progress  of 
his  students  than  about  the  size  of  the  books  which  they 
carried  to  and  from  the  school. 

This  letter,  which  was  written  upon  the  commonest 
kind  of  paper,  was  sealed  with  a  huge  wafer,  as  large  as 
a  two-sou  piece,  which  he  had  purchased  from  a  grocer 
in  Sairmeuse. 

The  chirography  was  labored,  heavy  and  trembling; 
it  betrayed  the  stiff  hand  of  a  man  more  accustomed  to 
guiding  the  plough  than  the  pen. 

The  lines  zigzagged  toward  the  top  or  toward  the 
24 


370        THE   HONOR    OF   THE    NAME 

bottom  of  the  page,  and  faults  of  orthography  were 
everywhere  apparent. 

But  if  the  writing  was  that  of  a  vulgar  peasant,  the 
thoughts  it  expressed  were  worthy  of  the  noblest,  the 
proudest  in  the  land. 

This  was  the  letter  which  Chanlouineau  had  written, 
probably  on  the  eve  of  the  insurrection : 

"  MARIE-ANNE — The  outbreak  is  at  hand.  Whether 
it  succeeds,  or  whether  it  fails,  I  shall  die.  That  was  de- 
cided on  the  day  when  I  learned  that  you  could  marry 
none  other  than  Maurice  d'Escorval. 

"  But  the  conspiracy  will  not  succeed ;  and  I  under- 
stand your  father  well  enough  to  know  that  he  will  not 
survive  its  defeat.  And  if  Maurice  and  your  brother 
should  both  be  killed,  what  would  become  of  you  ?  Oh, 
my  God,  would  you  not  be  reduced  to  beggary  ? 

"  The  thought  has  haunted  me  continually.  I  have 
reflected,  and  this  is  my  last  will : 

"  I  give  and  bequeath  to  you  all  my  property,  all  that 
I  possess : 

"  My  house,  the  Borderie,  with  the  gardens  and  vine- 
yards pertaining  thereto,  the  woodland  and  the  pastures 
of  Berarde,  and  five  lots  of  land  at  Valrollier. 

"  You  will  find  an  inventory  of  this  property,  and  of 
my  other  possessions  which  I  devise  to  you,  deposited 
with  the  lawyer  at  Sairmeuse. 

"  You  can  accept  this  bequest  without  fear ;  for,  hav- 
ing no  parents,  my  control  over  my  property  is  absolute. 

"If  you  do  not  wish  to  remain  in  France,  this  prop- 
erty will  sell  for  at  least  forty  thousand  francs. 

"  But  it  would,  it  seems  to  me,  be  better  for  you  to 
remain  in  your  own  country.  The  house  on  the  Bor- 
derie is  comfortable  and  convenient,  since  I  have  had 
it  divided  into  three  rooms  and  thoroughly  repaired. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   371 

"  Upstairs  is  a  room  that  has  been  fitted  up  by  the 
best  upholsterer  in  Montaignac.  I  intended  it  for  you. 
Beneath  the  hearth-stone  in  this  room  you  will  find  a  box 
containing  three  hundred  and  twenty-seven  louis  d'or 
and  one  hundred  and  forty-six  livres. 

"If  you  refuse  this  gift,  it  will  be  because  you  scorn 
me  even  after  I  am  dead.  Accept  it,  if  not  for  your  own 
sake,  for  the  sake  of — I  dare  not  write  it ;  but  you  will 
understand  my  meaning  only  too  well. 

"  If  Maurice  is  not  killed,  and  I  shall  try  my  best  to 
stand  between  him  and  danger,  he  will  marry  you. 
Then  you  will,  perhaps,  be  obliged  to  ask  his  consent 
in  order  to  accept  my  gift.  I  hope  that  he  will  not  re- 
fuse it.  One  is  not  jealous  of  the  dead ! 

"  Besides,  he  knows  well  that  you  have  scarcely 
vouchsafed  a  glance  to  the  poor  peasant  who  has  loved 
you  so  much. 

"  Do  not  be  offended  at  anything  I  have  said,  I  am  in 
such  agony  that  I  cannot  weigh  my  words. 
"  Adieu,  adieu,  Marie- Anne. 

"  CHANLOUINEAU." 

Maurice  also  read  twice,  before  handing  it  back,  this 
letter  whose  every  word  palpitated  with  sublime  passion. 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then,  in  a  husky  voice,  he 
said: 

"  You  cannot  refuse ;  it  would  be  wrong." 

His  emotion  was  so  great  that  he  could  not  conceal  it, 
and  he  left  the  room. 

He  was  overwhelmed  by  the  grandeur  of  soul  exhibit- 
ed by  this  peasant,  who,  after  saving  the  life  of  his  suc- 
cessful rival  at  the  Croix  d'Arcy,  had  wrested  Baron 
d'Escorval  from  the  hands  of  his  executioners,  and  who 
had  never  allowed  a  complaint  nor  a  reproach  to  escape 


372        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

his  lips,  and  whose  protection  over  the  woman  he  adored 
extended  even  from  beyond  the  grave. 

In  comparison  with  this  obscure  hero,^  Maurice  felt 
himself  insignificant,  mediocre,  unworthy. 

Good  God!  what  if  this  comparison  should  arise  in 
Marie- Anne's  mind  as  well?  How  could  he  compete 
with  the  memory  of  such  nobility  of  soul  and  heroic  self- 
sacrifice  ? 

Chanlouineau  was  mistaken ;  one  may,  perhaps,  be 
jealous  of  the  dead ! 

But  Maurice  took  good  care  to  conceal  this  poignant 
anxiety  and  these  sorrowful  thoughts,  and  during  the 
days  that  followed,  he  presented  himself  in  Marie- 
Anne's  room  with  a  calm,  even  cheerful  face. 

For  she,  unfortunately,  was  not  restored  to  health. 
She  had  recovered  the  full  possession  of  her  mental 
faculties,  but  her  strength  had  not  yet  returned.  She 
was  still  unable  to  sit  up ;  and  Maurice  was  forced  to  re- 
linquish all  thought  of  quitting  Saliente,  though  he  felt 
the  earth  burn  beneath  his  feet. 

This  persistent  weakness  began  to  astonish  the  old 
nurse.  Her  faith  in  herbs,  gathered  by  the  light  of  the 
moon,  was  considerably  shaken. 

Honest  Bavois  was  the  first  to  suggest  the  idea  of  con- 
sulting a  physician  whom  he  had  found  in  this  land  of 
savages. 

Yes ;  he  had  found  a  really  skilful  physician  in  the 
neighborhood,  a  man  of  superior  ability.  Attached  at 
one  time  to  the  beautiful  court  of  Prince  Eugene,  he  had 
been  obliged  to  flee  from  Milan,  and  had  taken  refuge  in 
this  secluded  spot. 

This  physician  was  summoned,  and  promptly  made 
his  appearance.  He  was  one  of  those  men  whose  age 
it  is  impossible  to  determine.  His  past,  whatever  it 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   373 

might  have  been,  had  wrought  deep  furrows  on  his  brow, 
and  his  glance  was  as  keen  and  piercing  as  his  lancet. 

After  visiting  the  sick-room,  he  drew  Maurice  aside. 

"  Is  this  young  lady  really  your  wife,  Monsieur — 
Dubois?" 

He  hesitated  so  strangely  over  this  name,  Dubois,  that 
Maurice  felt  his  face  crimson  to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

"  I  do  not  understand  your  question,"  he  retorted, 
angrily. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  of  course,  but  you  seem  very 
young  for  a  married  man,  and  your  hands  are  too  soft  to 
belong  to  a  farmer.  And  when  I  spoke  to  this  young 
lady  of  her  husband,  she  blushed  scarlet.  The  man  who 
accompanies  you  has  terrible  mustaches  for  a  farmer. 
Besides,  you  must  remember  that  there  have  been 
troubles  across  the  frontier  at  Montaignac." 

From  crimson  Maurice  had  turned  white.  He  felt 
that  he  was  discovered — that  he  was  in  this  man's  power. 

What  should  he  do  ? 

What  good  would  denial  do  ? 

He  reflected  that  confession  is  sometimes  the  height 
of  prudence,  and  that  extreme  confidence  often  meets 
with  sympathy  and  protection ;  so,  in  a  voice  trembling 
with  anxiety,  he  said : 

"  You  are  not  mistaken,  Monsieur.  My  friend  and 
myself  both  are  fugitives,  undoubtedly  condemned  to 
death  in  France  at  this  moment." 

And  without  giving  the  doctor  time  to  respond,  he 
narrated  the  terrible  events  that  had  happened  at  Sair- 
meuse,  and  the  history  of  his  unfortunate  love-affair. 

He  omitted  nothing.  He  neither  concealed  his  own 
name  nor  that  of  Marie-Anne. 

When  his  recital  was  completed,  the  physician  pressed 
his  hand. 


374        THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  It  is  just  as  I  supposed,"  said  he.  "  Believe  me, 
Monsieur — Dubois,  you  must  not  tarry  here.  What  I 
have  discovered  others  will  discover.  And  above  all, 
do  not  warn  the  hotel-keeper  of  your  departure.  He 
has  not  been  deceived  by  your  explanation.  Self-inter- 
est alone  has  kept  his  mouth  closed.  He  has  seen  your 
money,  and  so  long  as  you  spend  it  at  his  house  he  will 
hold  his  tongue ;  but  if  he  discovers  that  you  are  going 
away,  he  will  probably  betray  you." 

"  Ah !  sir,  but  how  is  it  possible  for  us  to  leave  this 
place?" 

"  In  two  days  the  young  lady  will  be  on  her  feet 
again,"  interrupted  the  physician.  "  And  take  my  ad- 
vice. At  the  next  village,  stop  and  give  your  name  to 
Mademoiselle  Lacheneur." 

"  Ah !  sir,"  Maurice  exclaimed ;  "  have  you  considered 
the  advice  you  offer  me  ?  How  can  I,  a  proscribed  man 
— a  man  condemned  to  death  perhaps — how  can  I  ob- 
tain the  necessary  papers  ?  " 

The  physician  shook  his  head. 

"  Excuse  me,  you  are  no  longer  in  France,  Monsieur 
d'Escorval,  you  are  in  Piedmont." 

"  Another  difficulty !  " 

"  No,  because  in  this  country,  people  marry,  or  at 
least  they  can  marry,  without  all  the  formalities  that 
cause  you  so  much  anxiety." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  Maurice  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  if  you  can  find  a  priest  who  will  consent  to  your 
union,  inscribe  your  name  upon  his  parish  register  and 
give  you  a  certificate,  you  will  be  so  indissolubly  united, 
Mademoiselle  Lacheneur  and  you,  that  the  court  of 
Rome  would  never  grant  you  a  divorce." 

To  suspect  the  truth  of  these  affirmations  was  difficult, 
and  yet  Maurice  doubted  still. 


"  So,  sir,"  he  said,  hesitatingly,  "  in  case  I  was  able 
to  find  a  priest " 

The  physician  was  silent.  One  might  have  supposed 
he  was  blaming  himself  for  meddling  with  matters  that 
did  not  concern  him. 

Then,  almost  brusquely,  he  said : 

"  Listen  to  me  attentively,  Monsieur  d'Escorval.  I 
am  about  to  take  my  leave,  but  before  I  go,  I  shall  take 
occasion  to  recommend  a  good  deal  of  exercise  for  the 
sick  lady — I  will  do  this  before  your  host.  Consequent- 
ly, day  after  to-morrow,  Wednesday,  you  will  hire 
mules,  and  you,  Mademoiselle  Lacheneur  and  your  old 
friend,  the  soldier,  will  leave  the  hotel  as  if  going  on  a 
pleasure  excursion.  You  will  push  on  to  Vigano,  three 
leagues  from  here,  where  I  live.  I  will  take  you  to  a 
priest,  one  of  my  friends ;  and  he,  upon  my  recommen- 
dation, will  perform  the  marriage  ceremony.  Now  re- 
flect, shall  I  expect  you  on  Wednesday  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,  Monsieur.  How  can  I  ever  thank 
you?" 

"  By  not  thanking  me  at  all.  See,  here  is  the  inn- 
keeper; you  are  Monsieur  Dubois,  again." 

Maurice  was  intoxicated  with  joy.  He  understood 
the  irregularity  of  such  a  marriage,  but  he  knew  it  would 
reassure  Marie- Anne's  troubled  conscience.  Poor  girl ! 
she  was  suffering  an  agony  of  remorse.  It  was  that 
which  was  killing  her. 

He  did  not  speak  to  her  on  the  subject,  however,  fear- 
ing something  might  occur  to  interfere  with  the  project. 

But  the  old  physician  had  not  given  his  word  lightly, 
and  everything  took  place  as  he  had  promised. 

The  priest  at  Vigano  blessed  the  marriage  of  Mau- 
rice d'Escorval  and  of  Marie- Anne  Lacheneur,  and  after 
inscribing  their  names  upon  the  church  register,  he  gave 


376         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

them  a  certificate,  upon  which  the  physician  and  Cor- 
poral Bavois  figured  as  witnesses. 

That  same  evening  the  mules  were  sent  back  to 
Saliente,  and  the  fugitives  resumed  their  journey. 

Abbe  Midon  had  counselled  them  to  reach  Turin  as 
quickly  as  possible. 

"  It  is  a  large  city,"  he  said ;  "  you  will  be  lost  in  the 
crowd.  I  have  more  than  one  friend  there,  whose  name 
and  address  are  upon  this  paper.  Go  to  them,  and  in 
that  way  I  will  try  to  send  you  news  of  your  father." 

So  it  was  toward  Turin  that  Maurice,  Marie-Anne, 
and  Corporal  Bavois  directed  their  steps. 

But  their  progress  was  very  slow,  for  they  were 
obliged  to  avoid  frequented  roads,  and  renounce  the 
ordinary  modes  of  transportation. 

The  fatigue  of  travel,  instead  of  exhausting  Marie- 
Anne,  seemed  to  revive  her.  After  five  or  six  days  the 
color  came  back  to  her  cheek  and  her  strength  returned. 

"  Fate  seems  to  have  relaxed  her  rigor,"  said  Maurice, 
one  day.  "  Who  knows  what  compensations  the  future 
may  have  in  store  for  us !  " 

No,  fate  had  not  taken  pity  upon  them ;  it  was  only  a 
short  respite  granted  by  destiny.  One  lovely  April 
morning  the  fugitives  stopped  for  breakfast  at  an  inn  on 
the  outskirts  of  a  large  city. 

Maurice  having  finished  his  repast  was  just  leaving 
the  table  to  settle  with  the  hostess,  when  a  despairing 
cry  arrested  him. 

Marie- Anne,  deadly  pale,  and  with  eyes  staring  wild- 
ly at  a  paper  which  she  held  in  her  hand,  exclaimed  in 
frenzied  tones : 

"Here!     Maurice!    Look!" 

It  was  a  French  journal  about  a  fortnight  old,  which 
had  probably  been  left  there  by  some  traveller. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    377 

Maurice  seized  it  and  read : 

"  Yesterday,  Lacheneur,  the  leader  of  the  revolt  in 
Montaignac,  was  executed.  The  miserable  mischief- 
maker  exhibited  upon  the  scaffold  the  audacity  for 
which  he  has  always  been  famous." 

"  My  father  has  been  put  to  death !  "  cried  Marie- 
Anne,  "  and  I — his  daughter — was  not  there  to  receive 
his  last  farewell !  " 

She  rose,  and  in  an  imperious  voice : 

"  I  will  go  no  farther,"  she  said ;  "  we  must  turn  back 
now  without  losing  an  instant.  I  wish  to  return  to 
France." 

To  return  to  France  was  to  expose  themselves  to 
frightful  peril.  What  good  would  it  do  ?  Was  not  the 
misfortune  irreparable  ? 

So  Corporal  Bavois  suggested,  very  timidly.  The 
old  soldier  trembled  at  the  thought  that  they  might  sus- 
pect him  of  being  afraid. 

But  Maurice  would  not  listen. 

He  shuddered.  It  seemed  to  him  that  Baron  d'Escor- 
val  must  have  been  discovered  and  arrested  at  the  same 
time  that  Lacheneur  was  captured. 

"  Yes,  let  us  start  at  on^e  on  our  return !  "  he  ex- 
claimed. 

They  immediately  procured  a  carriage  to  convey  them 
to  the  frontier.  One  important  question,  however,  re- 
mained to  be  decided.  Should  Maurice  and  Marie- Anne 
make  their  marriage  public  ?  She  wished  to  do  so,  but 
Maurice  entreated  her,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  to  con-, 
ceal  it. 

"  Our  marriage  certificate  will  not  silence  the  evil  dis- 
posed," said  he.  "  Let  us  keep  our  secret  for  the  pres- 
ent. We  shall  doubtless  remain  in  France  only  a  few 
days." 


378         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

Unfortunately,  Marie- Anne  yielded. 

"  Since  you  wish  it,"  said  she,  "  I  will  obey  you.  No 
one  shall  know  it." 

The  next  day,  which  was  the  i7th  of  April,  the  fugi- 
tives at  nightfall  reached  Father  Poignot's  house. 

Maurice  and  Corporal  Bavois  were  disguised  as 
peasants. 

The  old  soldier  had  made  one  sacrifice  that  drew  tears 
from  his  eyes ;  he  had  shaved  off  his  mustache. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

When  Abbe  Midon  and  Martial  de  Sairmeuse  held 
their  conference,  to  discuss  and  to  decide  upon  the  ar- 
rangements for  the  Baron  d'Escorval's  escape,  a  diffi- 
culty presented  itself  which  threatened  to  break  off  the 
negotiation. 

"  Return  my  letter,"  said  Martial,  "  and  I  will  save  the 
baron." 

"  Save  the  baron,"  replied  the  abbe,  "  and  your  letter 
shall  be  returned." 

But  Martial's  was  one  of  those  natures  which  become 
exasperated  by  the  least  shadow  of  suspicion. 

The  idea  that  anyone  should  suppose  him  influenced 
by  threats,  when  in  reality,  he  had  yielded  only  to  Marie- 
Anne's  tears,  angered  him  beyond  endurance. 

"  These  are  my  last  words,  Monsieur,"  he  said,  em- 
phatically. "  Restore  to  me,  now,  this  instant,  the  letter 
which  was  obtained  from  me  by  Chanlouineau's  ruse, 
and  I  swear  to  you,  by  the  honor  of  my  name,  that  all 
which  it  is  possible  for  any  human  being  to  do  to  save 
the  baron,  I  will  do.  If  you  distrust  my  word,  good- 
evening." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   379 

The  situation  was  desperate,  the  danger  imminent, 
the  time  limited;  Martial's  tone  betrayed  an  inflexible 
determination. 

The  abbe  could  not  hesitate.  He  drew  the  letter  from 
his  pocket  and  handing  it  to  Martial : 

"  Here  it  is,  Monsieur,"  he  said,  solemnly,  "  remem- 
ber that  you  have  pledged  the  honor  of  your  name." 

"  I  will  remember  it,  Monsieur  le  Cure.  Go  and  ob- 
tain the  ropes." 

The  abbe's  sorrow  and  amazement  were  intense, 
when,  after  the  baron's  terrible  fall,  Maurice  announced 
that  the  cord  had  been  cut.  And  yet  he  could  not  make 
up  his  mind  that  Martial  was  guilty  of  the  execrable  act. 
It  betrayed  a  depth  of  duplicity  and  hypocrisy  which  is 
rarely  found  in  men  under  twenty-five  years  of  age. 
But  no  one  suspected  his  secret  thoughts.  It  was  with 
the  most  unalterable  sang-froid  that  he  dressed  the 
baron's  wounds  and  made  arrangements  for  the  flight. 
Not  until  he  saw  M.  d'Escorval  installed  in  Poignot's 
house  did  he  breathe  freely. 

The  fact  that  the  baron  had  been  able  to  endure  the 
journey,  proved  that  in  this  poor  maimed  body  remained 
a  power  of  vitality  for  which  the  priest  had  not  dared  to 
hope. 

Some  way  must  now  be  discovered  to  procure  the  sur- 
gical instruments  and  the  remedies  which  the  condition 
of  the  wounded  man  demanded. 

But  where  and  how  could  he  procure  them  ? 

The  police  kept  a  close  watch  over  the  physicians  and 
druggists  in  Montaignac,  in  the  hope  of  discovering  the 
wounded  conspirators  through  them. 

But  the  cure,  who  had  been  for  ten  years  physician 
and  surgeon  for  the  poor  of  his  parish,  had  an  almost 
complete  set  of  surgical  instruments  and  a  well-filled 
medicine-chest. 


380         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  This  evening,"  said  he,  "  I  will  obtain  what  is  need- 
ful." 

When  night  came,  he  put  on  a  long  blue  blouse, 
shaded  his  face  by  an  immense  slouch  hat,  and  directed 
his  steps  toward  Sairmeuse. 

Not  a  light  was  visible  through  the  windows  of  the 
presbytery;  Bibiane,  the  old  housekeeper,  must  have 
gone  out  to  gossip  with  some  of  the  neighbors. 

The  priest  effected  an  entrance  into  the  house,  which 
had  once  been  his,  by  forcing  the  lock  of  the  door  open- 
ing on  the  garden ;  he  found  the  requisite  articles,  and 
retired  without  having  been  discovered. 

That  night  the  abbe  hazarded  a  cruel  but  indis- 
pensable operation.  His  heart  trembled,  but  not  the 
hand  that  held  the  knife,  although  he  had  never  before 
attempted  so  difficult  a  task. 

"  It  is  not  upon  my  weak  powers  that  I  rely :  I  have 
placed  my  trust  in  One  who  is  on  High." 

His  faith  was  rewarded.  Three  days  later  the  wound- 
ed man,  after  quite  a  comfortable  night,  seemed  to  re- 
gain consciousness. 

His  first  glance  was  for  his  devoted  wife,  who  was 
seated  by  his  bedside ;  his  first  word  was  for  his  son. 

"  Maurice?  "  he  asked. 

"  Is  in  safety,"  replied  the  abbe.  "  He  must  be  on  the 
way  to  Turin." 

M.  d'Escorval's  lips  moved  as  if  he  were  murmuring 
a  prayer ;  then,  in  a  feeble  voice : 

"  We  owe  you  a  debt  of  gratitude  which  we  can  never 
pay,"  he  murmured,  "  for  I  think  I  shall  pull  through." 

He  did  "  pull  through,"  but  not  without  terrible  suf- 
fering, not  without  difficulties  that  made  those  around 
him  tremble  with  anxiety.  Jean  Lacheneur,  more  fort- 
unate, was  on  his  feet  by  the  end  of  the  week. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    381 

Forty  days  had  passed,  when  one  evening — it  was  the 
1 7th  of  April — while  the  abbe  was  reading  a  newspaper 
to  the  baron,  the  door  gently  opened  and  one  of  the 
Poignot  boys  put  in  his  head,  then  quickly  with- 
drew it. 

The  priest  finished  the  paragraph,  laid  down  the 
paper,  and  quietly  went  out. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  inquired  of  the  young  man. 

"  Ah !  Monsieur,  Monsieur  Maurice,  Mademoiselle 
Lacheneur  and  the  old  corporal  have  just  arrived ;  they 
wish  to  come  up." 

In  three  bounds  the  abbe  descended  the  narrow  stair- 
case. 

"  Unfortunate  creatures !  "  he  exclaimed,  addressing 
the  three  imprudent  travellers,  "  what  has  induced  you 
to  return  here  ?  " 

Then  turning  to  Maurice : 

"  Is  it  not  enough  that  for  you,  and  through  you,  your 
father  has  nearly  died  ?  Are  you  afraid  he  will  not  be 
recaptured,  that  you  return  here  to  set  the  enemies  upon 
his  track  ?  Depart !  " 

The  poor  boy,  quite  overwhelmed,  faltered  his  excuse. 
Uncertainty  seemed  to  him  worse  than  death ;  he  had 
heard  of  M.  Lacheneur's  execution ;  he  had  not  reflected, 
he  would  go  at  once ;  he  asked  only  to  see  his  father  and 
to  embrace  his  mother. 

The  priest  was  inflexible. 

"  The  slightest  emotion  might  kill  your  father,"  he 
declared  ;  "  and  to  tell  your  mother  of  your  return,  and 
of  the  dangers  to  which  you  have  foolishly  exposed 
yourself,  would  cause  her  untold  tortures.  Go  at 
once.  Cross  the  frontier  again  this  very  night." 

Jean  Lacheneur,  who  had  witnessed  this  scene,  now 
approached. 


382        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

"  It  is  time  for  me  to  depart,"  said  he,  "  and  I  entreat 
you  to  care  for  my  sister,  the  place  for  her  is  here,  not 
upon  the  highways." 

The  abbe  deliberated  for  a  moment,  then  he  said, 
brusquely : 

"  So  be  it ;  but  go  at  once ;  your  name  is  not  upon  the 
proscribed  list.  You  will  not  be  pursued." 

Thus,  suddenly  separated  from  his  wife,  Maurice 
wished  to  confer  with  her,  to  give  her  some  parting  ad- 
vice ;  but  the  abbe  did  not  allow  him  an  opportunity. 

"  Go,  go  at  once,"  he  insisted.    "  Farewell !  " 

The  good  abbe  was  too  hasty. 

Just  when  Maurice  stood  sorely  in  need  of  wise  coun- 
sel, he  was  thus  delivered  over  to  the  influence  of  Jean 
Lacheneur's  furious  hatred.  As  soon  as  they  were  out- 
side: 

"  This,"  exclaimed  Jean,  "  is  the  work  of  the  Sair- 
meuse  and  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu !  I  do  not  even 
know  where  they  have  thrown  the  body  of  my  murdered 
parent;  you  cannot  even  embrace  the  father  who  has 
been  traitorously  assassinated  by  them  !  " 

He  laughed  a  harsh,  discordant,  terrible  laugh,  and 
continued : 

"  And  yet,  if  we  ascended  that  hill,  we  could  see  the 
Chateau  de  Sairmeuse  in  the  distance,  brightly  illumi- 
nated. They  are  celebrating  the  marriage  of  Martial  de 
Sairmeuse  and  Blanche  de  Courtornieu.  We  are  home- 
less wanderers  without  friends,  and  without  a  shelter 
for  our  heads :  they  are  feasting  and  making  merry." 

Less  than  this  would  have  sufficed  to  rekindle  the 
wrath  of  Maurice.  He  forgot  everything  in  saying  to 
himself  that  to  disturb  this  fete  by  his  appearance  would 
be  a  vengeance  worthy  of  him. 

"  I  will  go  and  challenge  Martial  now,  on  the  instant, 
in  the  presence  of  the  revellers,"  he  exclaimed. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    383 

But  Jean  interrupted  him. 

"  No,  not  that !  They  are  cowards ;  they  would  ar- 
rest you.  Write ;  I  will  be  the  bearer  of  the  letter." 

Corporal  Bavois  heard  them ;  but  he  did  not  oppose 
their  folly.  He  thought  it  all  perfectly  natural,  under 
the  circumstances,  and  esteemed  them  the  more  for  their 
rashness. 

Forgetful  of  prudence  they  entered  the  first  shop,  and 
the  challenge  was  written  and  confided  to  Jean  Lache- 
neur. 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

To  disturb  the  merrymaking  at  the  Chateau  de  Sair- 
meuse ;  to  change  the  joy  of  the  bridal-day  into  sadness ; 
to  cast  a  gloom  over  the  nuptials  of  Martial  and  Mile. 
Blanche  de  Courtornieu. 

This,  in  truth,  was  all  that  Jean  Lacheneur  hoped 
to  do. 

As  for  believing  that  Martial,  triumphant  and  happy, 
would  accept  the  challenge  of  Maurice,  a  miserable  out- 
law, he  did  not  believe  it. 

While  awaiting  Martial  in  the  vestibule  of  the  cha- 
teau, he  armed  himself  against  the  scorn  and  sneers 
which  he  would  probably  receive  from  this  haughty 
nobleman  whom  he  had  come  to  insult. 

But  Martial's  kindly  greeting  had  disconcerted  him  a 
little. 

But  he  was  reassured  when  he  saw  the  terrible  effect 
produced  upon  the  marquis  by  the  insulting  letter. 

"  We  have  cut  him  to  the  quick,"  he  thought. 

When  Martial  seized  him  by  the  arm  and  led  him  up- 
stairs, he  made  no  resistance. 

While  they  traversed  the  brightly  lighted  drawing- 


384        THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

rooms  and  passed  through  the  crowd  of  astonished 
guests,  Jean  thought  neither  of  his  heavy  shoes  nor  of 
his  peasant  dress. 

Breathless  with  anxiety,  he  wondered  what  was  to 
come. 

He  soon  knew. 

Leaning  against  the  gilded  door-post,  he  witnessed 
the  terrible  scene  in  the  little  salon. 

He  saw  Martial  de  Sairmeuse,  frantic  with  passion, 
cast  into  the  face  of  his  father-in-law  Maurice  d'Escor- 
val's  letter. 

One  might  have  supposed  that  all  this  did  not  affect 
him  in  the  least,  he  stood  so  cold  and  unmoved,  with 
compressed  lips  and  downcast  eyes;  but  appearances 
were  deceitful.  His  heart  throbbed  with  wild  exulta- 
tion ;  and  if  he  cast  down  his  eyes,  it  was  only  to  conceal 
the  joy  that  sparkled  there. 

He  had  not  hoped  for  so  prompt  and  so  terrible  a  re- 
venge. 

Nor  was  this  all. 

After  brutally  repulsing  Blanche,  his  newly  wedded 
wife,  who  attempted  to  detain  him,  Martial  again  seized 
Jean  Lacheneur's  arm. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  follow  me !  " 

Jean  followed  him  still  without  a  word. 

They  again  crossed  the  grand  hall,  but  instead  of 
going  to  the  vestibule  Martial  took  a  candle  that  was 
burning  upon  a  side  table,  and  opened  a  little  door  lead- 
ing to  the  private  staircase. 

"  Where  are  you  taking  me  ?  "  inquired  Jean  Lache- 
neur. 

Martial,  who  had  already  ascended  two  or  three 
steps,  turned. 

"  Are  you  afraid  ?  "  he  asked. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    385 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  coldly  re- 
plied : 

"  If  you  put  it  in  that  way,  let  us  go  on." 

They  entered  the  room  which  Martial  had  occupied 
since  taking  possession  of  the  chateau.  It  was  the  same 
room  that  had  once  belonged  to  Jean  Lacheneur;  and 
nothing  had  been  changed.  He  recognized  the  brightly 
flowered  curtains,  the  figures  on  the  carpet,  and  even  an 
old  arm-chair  where  he  had  read  many  a  novel  in  secret. 

Martial  hastened  to  a  small  writing-desk,  and  took 
from  it  a  paper  which  he  slipped  into  his  pocket. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  let  us  go.  We  must  avoid  another 
scene.  My  father  and — my  wife  will  be  seeking  me.  I 
will  explain  when  we  are  outside." 

They  hastily  descended  the  staircase,  passed  through 
the  gardens,  and  soon  reached  the  long  avenue. 

Then  Jean  Lacheneur  suddenly  paused. 

"  To  come  so  far  for  a  simple  yes  or  no  is,  I  think,  un- 
necessary," said  he.  "  Have  you  decided  ?  What  an- 
swer am  I  to  give  Maurice  d'Escorval  ?  " 

"  Nothing !  You  will  take  me  to  him.  I  must  see 
him  and  speak  with  him  in  order  to  justify  myself.  Let 
us  proceed !  " 

But  Jean  Lacheneur  did  not  move. 

"  What  you  ask  is  impossible !  "  he  replied. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  Maurice  is  pursued.  If  he  is  captured,  he 
will  be  tried  and  undoubtedly  condemned  to  death.  He 
is  now  in  a  safe  retreat,  and  I  have  no  right  to  dis- 
close it." 

Maurice's  safe  retreat  was,  in  fact,  only  a  neighboring 
wood,  where  in  company  with  the  corporal,  he  was 
awaiting  Jean's  return. 

But  Jean  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  make  this 
25 


386         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

response,  which  was  far  more  insulting  than  if  he  had 
simply  said : 

"  We  fear  informers !  " 

Strange  as  it  may  appear  to  one  who  knew  Martial's 
proud  and  violent  nature,  he  did  not  resent  the  insult. 

"  So  you  distrust  me !  "  he  said,  sadly. 

Jean  Lacheneur  was  silent — another  insult. 

"  But,"  insisted  Martial,  "  after  what  you  have  just 
seen  and  heard  you  can  no  longer  suspect  me  of  having 
cut  the  ropes  which  I  carried  to  the  baron." 

"  No !  I  am  convinced  that  you  are  innocent  of  that 
atrocious  act." 

"  You  saw  how  I  punished  the  man  who  dared  to 
compromise  the  honor  of  the  name  of  Sairmeuse.  And 
this  man  is  the  father  of  the  young  girl  whom  I  wedded 
to-day." 

"  I  have  seen  all  this ;  but  I  must  still  reply :  '  Impos- 
sible.' " 

Jean  was  amazed  at  the  patience,  we  should  rather 
say,  the  humble  resignation  displayed  by  Martial  de 
Sairmeuse. 

Instead  of  rebelling  against  this  manifest  injustice, 
Martial  drew  from  his  pocket  the  paper  which  he  had 
just  taken  from  his  desk,  and  handing  it  to  Jean : 

'  Those  who  have  brought  upon  me  the  shame  of  hav- 
ing my  word  doubted  shall  be  punished  for  it,"  he  said 
grimly.  "  You  do  not  believe  in  my  sincerity,  Jean. 
Here  is  a  proof,  which  I  expect  you  to  give  to  Maurice, 
and  which  cannot  fail  to  convince  even  you." 

"What  is  this  proof?" 

"  The  letter  written  by  my  hand,  in  exchange  for 
which  my  father  assisted  in  the  baron's  escape.  An  in- 
explicable presentiment  prevented  me  from  burning  this 
compromising  letter.  To-day,  I  rejoice  that  such  was 
the  case.  Take  it,  and  use  it  as  you  will." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    387 

Anyone  save  Jean  Lacheneur  would  have  been 
touched  by  the  generosity  of  soul.  But  Jean  was  im- 
placable. His  was  a  nature  which  nothing  can  disarm, 
which  nothing  can  mollify ;  hatred  in  his  heart  was  a 
passion  which,  instead  of  growing  weaker  with  time, 
increased  and  became  more  terrible. 

He  would  have  sacrificed  anything  at  that  moment 
for  the  ineffable  joy  of  seeing  this  proud  and  detested 
marquis  at  his  feet.  .  . 

"  Very  well,  I  will  give  it  to  Maurice,"  he  responded, 
coldly. 

"  It  should  be  a  bond  of  alliance,  it  seems  to  me,"  said 
Martial,  gently. 

Jean  Lacheneur  made  a  gesture  terrible  in  its  irony 
and  menace. 

"  A  bond  of  alliance !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  are  too 
fast,  Monsieur  le  Marquis !  Have  you  forgotten  all  the 
blood  that  flows  between  us  ?  You  did  not  cut  the  ropes ; 
but  who  condemned  the  innocent  Baron  d'Escorval  to 
death?  Was  it  not  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse?  An  al- 
liance !  You  have  forgotten  that  you  and  yours  sent  my 
father  to  the  scaffold  !  How  have  you  rewarded  the  man 
whose  heroic  honesty  gave  you  back  a  fortune?  By 
murdering  him,  and  by  ruining  the  reputation  of  his 
daughter." 

"  I  offered  my  name  and  my  fortune  to  your  sister." 

"  I  would  have  killed  her  with  my  own  hand  had  she 
accepted  your  offer.  Let  this  prove  to  you  that  I  do  not 
forget.  If  any  great  disgrace  ever  tarnishes  the  proud 
name  of  Sairmeuse,  think  of  Jean  Lacheneur.  My  hand 
will  be  in  it." 

He  was  so  frantic  with  passion  that  he  forgot  his 
usual  caution.  By  a  violent  effort  he  recovered  his  self- 
possession,  and  in  calmer  tones  he  added : 


388         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  And  if  you  are  so  desirous  of  seeing  Maurice,  be  at 
the  Reche  to-morrow  at  mid-day.  He  will  be  there." 

Having  said  this,  he  turned  abruptly  aside,  sprang 
over  the  fence  skirting  the  avenue,  and  disappeared  in 
the  darkness. 

"  Jean,"  cried  Martial,  in  almost  supplicating  tones ; 
"  Jean,  come  back — listen  to  me !  " 

No  response. 

A  sort  of  bewilderment  had  seized  the  young  marquis, 
and  he  stood  motionless  and  dazed  in  the  middle  of  the 
road. 

A  horse  and  rider  on  their  way  to  Montaignac,  that 
nearly  ran  over  him,  aroused  him  from  his  stupor,  and 
the  consciousness  of  his  acts,  which  he  had  lost  while 
reading  the  letter  from  Maurice,  came  back  to  him. 

Now  he  could  judge  of  his  conduct  calmly. 

Was  it  indeed  he,  Martial,  the  phlegmatic  sceptic,  the 
man  who  boasted  of  his  indifference  and  his  insensibil- 
ity, who  had  thus  forgotten  all  self-control  ? 

Alas,  yes.  And  when  Blanche  de  Courtornieu,  now 
and  henceforth  the  Marquise  de  Sairmeuse,  accused 
Marie-Anne  of  being  the  cause  of  his  frenzy,  she  had 
not  been  entirely  wrong. 

Martial,  who  regarded  the  opinion  of  the  entire  world 
with  disdain,  was  rendered  frantic  by  the  thought  that 
Marie- Anne  despised  him,  and  considered  him  a  traitor 
and  a  coward. 

It  was  for  her  sake,  that  in  his  outburst  of  rage,  he 

i  resolved  upon  such  a  startling  justification.    And  if  he 

besought  Jean  to  lead  him  to  Maurice  d'Escorval,  it  was 

because  he  hoped  to  find  Marie- Anne  not  far  off,  and  to 

say  to  her : 

"  Appearances  were  against  me,  but  I  am  innocent ; 
and  I  have  proved  it  by  unmasking  the  real  culprit." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    389 

It  was  to  Marie-Anne  that  he  wished  this  famous  let- 
ter to  be  given,  thinking  that  she,  at  least,  could  not  fail 
to  be  surprised  at  his  generosity. 

His  expectations  had  been  disappointed ;  and  now  he 
realized  what  a  terrible  scandal  he  had  created. 

"  It  will  be  the  devil  to  arrange !  "  he  explained ;  "  but 
nonsense !  it  will  be  forgotten  in  a  month.  The  best  way 
will  be  to  face  those  gossips  at  once :  I  will  return  imme- 
diately." 

He  said :  "  I  will  return,"  in  the  most  deliberate  man- 
ner; but  in  proportion  as  he  neared  the  chateau,  his 
courage  failed  him. 

The  guests  must  have  departed  ere  this,  and  Martial 
concluded  that  he  would  probably  find  himself  alone 
with  his  young  wife,  his  father,  and  the  Marquis  de 
Courtornieu.  What  reproaches,  tears,  anger  and 
threats  he  would  be  obliged  to  encounter. 

"  No,"  he  muttered.  "  I  am  not  such  a  fool !  Let 
them  have  a  night  to  calm  themselves.  I  will  not  appear 
until  to-morrow." 

But  where  should  he  pass  the  night  ?  He  was  in  even- 
ing dress  and  bareheaded ;  he  began  to  feel  cold.  The 
house  belonging  to  the  duke  in  Montaignac  would  af- 
ford him  a  refuge. 

"  I  shall  find  a  bed,  some  servants,  a  fire,  and  a 
change  of  clothing  there — and  to-morrow,  a  horse  to 
return." 

It  was  quite  a  distance  to  walk;  but  in  his  present 
mood  this  did  not  displease  him. 

The  servant  who  came  to  open  the  door  when  he 
rapped,  was  speechless  with  astonishment  on  recog- 
nizing him. 

"  You,  Monsieur !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  it  is  I.  Light  a  good  fire  in  the  drawing-room 
for  me,  and  bring  me  a  change  of  clothing." 


390         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

The  valet  obeyed,  and  soon  Martial  found  himself 
alone,  stretched  upon  a  sofa  before  the  cheerful  blaze. 

"  It  would  be  a  good  thing  to  sleep  and  forget  my 
troubles,"  he  said  to  himself. 

He  tried ;  but  it  was  not  until  early  morning  that  he 
fell  into  a  feverish  slumber. 

He  awoke  about  nine  o'clock,  ordered  breakfast,  con- 
cluded to  return  to  Sairmeuse,  and  he  was  eating  with 
a  good  appetite,  when  suddenly : 

"  Have  a  horse  saddled  instantly !  "  he  exclaimed. 

He  had  just  remembered  the  rendezvous  with  Mau- 
rice. Why  should  he  not  go  there  ? 

He  set  out  at  once,  and  thanks  to  a  spirited  horse,  he 
reached  the  Reche  at  half-past  eleven  o'clock. 

The  others  had  not  yet  arrived ;  he  fastened  his  horse 
to  a  tree  near  by,  and  leisurely  climbed  to  the  summit  of 
the  hill. 

This  spot  had  been  the  site  of  Lacheneurs  house. 
The  four  walls  remained  standing,  blackened  by  fire. 

Martial  was  contemplating  the  ruins,  nor  without 
deep  emotion,  when  he  heard  a  sharp  crackling  in  the 
underbrush. 

He  turned ;  Maurice,  Jean,  and  Corporal  Bavois  were 
approaching. 

The  old  soldier  carried  under  his  arm  a  long  and  nar- 
row package,  enveloped  in  a  piece  of  green  serge.  It 
contained  the  swords  which  Jean  Lacheneur  had  gone  to 
Montaignac  during  the  night  to  procure  from  a  retired 
officer. 

"  We  are  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,"  began 
Maurice,  "  but  you  will  observe  that  it  is  not  yet  mid- 
day. Since  we  scarcely  expected  to  see  you — 

"  I  was  too.  anxious  to  justify  myself  not  to  be  here 
early,"  interrupted  Martial. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME*     391 

Maurice  shrugged  his  shoulders  disdainfully. 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  self-justification,  but  of  fight- 
ing," he  said,  in  a  tone  rude  even  to  insolence. 

Insulting  as  were  the  words  and  the  gesture  that  ac- 
companied them,  Martial  never  so  much  as  winced. 

"  Sorrow  has  rendered  you  unjust,"  said  he,  gently, 
"  or  Monsieur  Lacheneur  here  has  told  you  nothing." 

"  Jean  has  told  me  all." 

"Well,  then?" 

Martial's  coolness  drove  Maurice  frantic. 

"  Well,"  he  replied,  with  extreme  violence,  "  my 
hatred  is  unabated  even  if  my  scorn  is  diminished.  You 
have  owed  me  an  opportunity  to  avenge  myself,  Mon- 
sieur, ever  since  the  day  we  met  on  the  square  at  Sair- 
meuse  in  the  presence  of  Mademoiselle  Lacheneur.  You 
said  to  me  on  that  occasion :  '  We  shall  meet  again.' 
Here  we  stand  now  face  to  face.  What  insults  must  I 
heap  upon  you  to  decide  you  to  fight  ?  " 

A  flood  of  crimson  dyed  Martial's  face.  He  seized 
one  of  the  swords  which  Bavois  offered  him,  and  as- 
sumed an  attitude  of  defence. 

"  You  will  have  it  so,"  said  he  in  a  husky  voice.  "  The 
thought  of  Marie- Anne  can  no  longer  save  you." 

But  the  blades  had  scarcely  .crossed  before  a  cry  from 
Jean  and  from  Corporal  Bavois  arrested  the  combat. 

"  The  soldiers  !  "  they  exclaimed  ;  "  let  us  fly !  " 

A  dozen  soldiers  were  indeed  approaching  at  the  top 
of  their  speed. 

"  Ah !  I  spoke  the  truth !  "  exclaimed  Maurice.  "  The 
coward  came,  but  the  gendarmes  accompanied  him." 

He  bounded  back,  and  breaking  his  sword  over  his 
knee,  he  hurled  the  fragments  in  Martial's  face,  saying: 

"  Here,  miserable  wretch  !  " 

"  Wretch ! "  repeated  Jean  and  Corporal  Bavois, 
"  traitor !  coward !  " 


392         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

And  they  fled,  leaving  Martial  thunderstruck. 

He  struggled  hard  to  regain  his  composure.  The  sol- 
diers were  very  near ;  he  ran  to  meet  them,  and  address- 
ing the  officer  in  command,  he  said,  imperiously : 

"  Do  you  know  who  I  am  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  sergeant,  respectfully,  "  you  are 
the  son  of  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse." 

"  Very  well !    I  forbid  you  to  follow  those  men." 

The  sergeant  hesitated  at  first ;  then,  in  a  decided  tone, 
he  replied : 

"  I  cannot  obey  you,  sir.    I  have  my  orders." 

And  addressing  his  men : 

"  Forward !  "  he  exclaimed.  He  was  about  to  set  the 
example,  when  Martial  seized  him  by  the  arm. 

"  At  least  you  will  not  refuse  to  tell  me  who  sent  you 
here?" 

"  Who  sent  us  ?  The  colonel,  of  course,  in  obedience 
to  orders  from  the  grand  prevot,  Monsieur  de  Court- 
ornieu.  He  sent  the  order  last  night.  We  have  been 
hidden  in  that  grove  since  daybreak.  But  release  me 
— tonnerre!  would  you  have  my  expedition  fail  en- 
tirely?" 

He  hurried  away,  and  Martial,  staggering  like  a 
drunken  man,  descended  the  slope,  and  remounted  his 
horse. 

But  he  did  not  repair  to  the  Chateau  de  Sairmeuse ;  he 
returned  to  Montaignac,  and  passed  the  remainder  of 
the  afternoon  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  room. 

That  evening  he  sent  two  letters  to  Sairmeuse.  One 
to  his  father,  the  other  to  his  wife. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME        393 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

Terrible  as  Martial  imagined  the  scandal  to  be  which 
he  had  created,  his  conception  of  it  by  no  means  equalled 
the  reality. 

Had  a  thunder-bolt  burst  beneath  that  roof,  the 
guests  at  Sairmeuse  could  not  have  been  more  amazed 
and  horrified. 

A  shudder  passed  over  the  assembly  when  Martial, 
terrible  in  his  passion,  flung  the  crumbled  letter  full  in 
the  face  of  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu. 

And  when  the  marquis  sank  half-fainting  into  an 
arm-chair  some  young  ladies  of  extreme  sensibility 
could  not  repress  a  cry  of  fear. 

For  twenty  seconds  after  Martial  disappeared  with 
Jean  Lacheneur,  the  guests  stood  as  motionless  as 
statues,  pale,  mute,  stupefied. 

It  was  Blanche  who  broke  the  spell. 

While  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  was  panting  for 
breatK — while  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  was  trembling  and 
speechless  with  suppressed  anger,  the  young  marquise 
made  an  heroic  attempt  to  come  to  the  rescue. 

With  her  hand  still  aching  from  Martial's  brutal 
clasp,  a  heart  swelling  with  rage  and  hatred,  and  a  face 
whiter  than  her  bridal  veil,  she  had  strength  to  restrain 
her  tears  and  to  compel  her  lips  to  smile. 

"  Really  this  is  placing  too  much  importance  on  a 
trifling  misunderstanding  which  will  be  explained  to- 
morrow," she  said,  almost  gayly,  to  those  nearest  her. 

And  stepping  into  the  middle  of  the  hall  she  made  a 
sign  to  the  musicians  to  play  a  country-dance. 

But  when  the  first  measures  floated  through  the  air, 


394         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

the  company,  as  if  by  unanimous  consent,  hastened 
toward  the  door. 

One  might  have  supposed  the  chateau  on  fire — the 
guests  did  not  withdraw,  they  actually  fled. 

An  hour  before,  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  and  the 
Due  de  Sairmeuse  had  been  overwhelmed  with  the  most 
obsequious  homage  and  adulation. 

But  now  there  was  not  one  in  that  assembly  daring 
enough  to  take  them  openly  by  the  hand. 

Just  when  they  believed  themselves  all-powerful  they 
were  rudely  precipitated  from  their  lordly  eminence. 
Disgrace  and  perhaps  punishment  were  to  be  their  por- 
tion. 

Heroic  to  the  last,  the  bride  endeavored  to  stay  the 
tide  of  retreating  guests. 

Stationing  herself  near  the  door,  with  her  most  be- 
witching smile  upon  her  lips,  Madame  Blanche  spared 
neither  flattering  words  nor  entreaties  in  her  efforts  to 
reassure  the  deserters. 

Vain  attempt !  Useless  sacrifice !  Many  ladies  were 
not  sorry  of  an  opportunity  to  repay  the  young  Marquise 
de  Sairmeuse  for  the  disdain  and  the  caustic  wopds  of 
Blanche  de  Courtornieu. 

Soon  all  the  guests,  who  had  so  eagerly  presented 
themselves  that  morning,  had  disappeared,  and  there 
remained  only  one  old  gentleman  who,  on  account  of 
his  gout,  had  deemed  it  prudent  not  to  mingle  with  the 
crowd. 

He  bowed  in  passing  before  the  young  marquise,  and 
blushing  at  this  insult  to  a  woman,  he  departed  as  the 
others  had  done. 

Blanche  was  now  alone.  There  was  no  longer  any 
necessity  for  constraint.  There  were  no  more  curious 
witnesses  to  enjoy  her  sufferings  and  to  make  comment 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    395 

upon  them.  With  a  furious  gesture  she  tore  her  bridal 
veil  and  the  wreath  of  orange  flowers  from  her  head,  and 
trampled  them  under  foot. 

A  servant  was  passing  through  the  hall ;  she  stopped 
him. 

"  Extinguish  the  lights  everywhere !  "  she  ordered, 
with  an  angry  stamp  of  her  foot  as  if  she  had  been  in  her 
own  father's  house,  and  not  at  Sairmeuse. 

He  obeyed  her,  and  then,  with  flashing  eyes  and 
dishevelled  hair,  she  hastened  to  the  little  salon  in 
which  the  denouement  had  taken  place. 

A  crowd  of  servants  surrounded  the  marquis,  who 
was  lying  like  one  stricken  with  apoplexy. 

"  All  the  blood  in  his  body  has  flown  to  his  head,"  re- 
marked the  duke,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

For  the  duke  was  furious  with  his  former  friends. 

He  scarcely  knew  with  whom  he  was  most  angry, 
Martial  or  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu. 

Martial,  by  this  public  confession,  had  certainly  im- 
perilled, if  he  had  not  ruined,  their  political  future. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  had  not  the  Marquis  de 
Courtornieu  represented  a  Sairmeuse  as  being  guilty  of 
an  act  of  treason  revolting  to  any  honorable  heart? 

Buried  in  a  large  arm-chair,  he  sat  watching,  with 
contracted  brows,  the  movements  of  the  servants, 
when  his  daughter-in-law  entered  the  room. 

She  paused  before  him,  and  with  arms  folded  tightly 
across  her  breast,  she  said,  angrily : 

"  Why  did  you  remain  here  while  I  was  left  alone  to 
endure  such  humiliation?  Ah!  had  I  been  a  man! 
All  our  guests  have  fled,  Monsieur — all !  " 

M.  de  Sairmeuse  sprang  up. 

"  Ah,  well !  what  if  they  have  ?  Let  them  go  to  the 
devil!" 


396         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

Of  the  guests  that  had  just  left  his  house  there  was 
not  one  whom  the  duke  really  regretted — not  one 
whom  he  regarded  as  an  equal.  In  giving  a  marriage- 
feast  for  his  son,  he  had  bidden  all  the  gentry  of  the 
neighborhood.  They  had  come — very  well!  They 
had  fled — bon  voyage! 

If  the  duke  cared  at  all  for  their  desertion,  it  was  only 
because  it  presaged  with  terrible  eloquence  the  dis- 
grace that  was  to  come. 

Still  he  tried  to  deceive  himself. 

"  They  will  return,  Madame ;  you  will  see  them  re- 
turn, humble  and  repentant !  But  where  can  Martial 
be?" 

The  lady's  eyes  flashed,  but  she  made  no  reply. 

"  Did  he  go  away  with  the  son  of  that  rascal,  Lache- 
neur?" 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  It  will  not  be  long  before  he  returns " 

"Who  can  say?" 

M.  de  Sairmeuse  struck  the  marble  mantel  heavily 
with  his  clinched  fist. 

"  My  God !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  this  is  an  overwhelm- 
ing misfortune." 

The  young  wife  believed  that  he  was  anxious  and 
angry  on  her  account.  But  she  was  mistaken.  He 
was  thinking  only  of  his  disappointed  ambition. 

Whatever  he  might  pretend,  the  duke  secretly  con- 
fessed his  son's  superiority  and  his  genius  for  intrigue, 
and  he  was  now  extremely  anxious  to  consult  him. 

"  He  has  wrought  this  evil ;  it  is  for  him  to  repair  it ! 
And  he  is  capable  of  it  if  he  chooses,"  he  murmured. 

Then,  aloud,  he  resumed : 

"  Martial  must  be  found — he  must  be  found " 

With  an  angry  gesture,  Blanche  interrupted  him. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    397 

"  You  must  seek  Marie- Anne  if  you  wish  to  find — 
my  husband." 

The  duke  was  of  the  same  opinion,  but  he  dared  not 
avow  it. 

"  Anger  leads  you  astray,  Marquise,"  said  he. 

"  I  know  what  I  know." 

"  Martial  will  soon  make  his  appearance,  believe  me. 
If  he  went  away,  he  will  soon  return.  They  shall  go 
for  him  at  once,  or  I  will  go  for  him  myself " 

He  left  the  room  with  a  muttered  oath,  and  Blanche 
approached  her  father,  who  still  seemed  to  be  uncon- 
scious. 

She  seized  his  arm  and  shook  it  roughly,  saying,  in 
the  most  peremptory  tone : 

"Father!  father!" 

This  voice,  which  had  so  often  made  the  Marquis  de 
Courtornieu  tremble,  was  far  more  efficacious  than 
eau  de  cologne.  He  opened  one  eye  the  least  bit  in 
the  world,  then  quickly  closed  it ;  but  not  so  quickly 
that  his  daughter  failed  to  discover  it. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  with  you,"  she  said ;  "  get  up." 

He  dared  not  disobey,  and  slowly  and  with  difficulty, 
he  raised  himself. 

"  Ah !  how  I  suffer !  "  he  groaned ;  "  how  I  suffer !  " 

His  daughter  glanced  at  him  scornfully ;  then,  in  a 
tone  of  bitter  irony,  she  remarked : 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  in  Paradise  ?  " 

"  Speak,"  sighed  the  marquis.  "  What  do  you  wish 
to  say  ?  " 

The  bride  turned  haughtily  to  the  servants. 

"  Leave  the  room !  "  she  said,  imperiously. 

They  obeyed,  and,  after  she  had  locked  the  door: 

"  Let  us  speak  of  Martial,"  she  began. 

At  the  sound  of  this  name,  the  marquis  bounded 
from  his  chair  with  clinched  fists. 


398         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  Ah,  the  wretch !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Martial  is  my  husband,  father." 

"  And  you ! — after  what  he  has  done — you  dare  to 
defend  him  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  defend  him ;  but  I  do  not  wish  him  to  be 
murdered." 

At  that  moment  the  news  of  Martial's  death  would 
have  given  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  infinite  satis- 
faction. 

"  You  heard,  father,"  continued  Blanche,  "  the  ren- 
dezvous appointed  to-morrow,  at  mid-day,  on  the 
Reche.  I  know  Martial ;  he  has  been  insulted,  and  he 
will  go  there.  Will  he  encounter  a  loyal  adversary? 
No.  He  will  find  a  crowd  of  assassins.  You  alone 
can  prevent  him  from  being  assassinated." 

"I!  and  how?" 

"  By  sending  some  soldiers  to  the  Reche,  with  orders 
to  conceal  themselves  in  the  grove — with  orders  to  ar- 
rest these  murderers  at  the  proper  moment." 

The  marquis  gravely  shook  his  head. 

"  If  I  do  that,"  said  he,  "  Martial  is  quite  capa- 
11  » 

"  Of  anything !  yes,  I  know  it.  But  what  does  it 
matter  to  you,  since  I  am  willing  to  assume  the  respon- 
sibility?" 

M.  de  Courtornieu  vainly  tried  to  penetrate  the 
bride's  real  motive. 

"  The  order  to  Montaignac  must  be  sent  at  once," 
she  insisted. 

Had  she  been  less  excited  she  would  have  discerned 
the  gleam  of  malice  in  her  father's  eye.  He  was  think- 
ing that  this  would  afford  him  an  ample  revenge,  since 
he  could  bring  dishonor  upon  Martial,  who  had  shown 
so  little  regard  for  the  honor  of  others. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    399 

"  Very  well ;  since  you  will  have  it  so,"  he  said,  with 
feigned  reluctance. 

His  daughter  made  haste  to  bring  him  ink  and  pens, 
and  with  trembling  hands  he  prepared  a  series  of  mi- 
nute instructions  for  the  commander  at  Montaignac. 

Blanche  herself  gave  the  letter  to  a  servant,  with  di- 
rections to  depart  at  once ;  and  it  was  not  until  she  had 
seen  him  set  off  on  a  gallop  that  she  went  to  her  own 
apartments — the  apartments  in  which  Martial  had 
gathered  together  all  that  was  most  beautiful  and  lux- 
urious. 

But  this  splendor  only  aggravated  the  misery  of  the 
deserted  wife,  for  that  she  was  deserted  she  did  not 
doubt  for  a  moment.  She  was  sure  that  her  husband 
would  not  return ;  she  did  not  expect  him. 

The  Due  de  Sairmeuse  was  searching  the  neighbor- 
hood with  a  party  of  servants,  but  she  knew  that  it  was 
labor  lost;  that  they  would  not  encounter  Martial. 

Where  could  he  be?  Near  Marie- Anne  most  as- 
suredly— and  at  the  thought  a  wild  desire  to  wreak 
her  vengeance  on  her  rival  took  possession  of  her 
heart. 

Martial,  at  Montaignac,  had  ended  by  going  to  sleep. 

Blanche,  when  daylight  came,  exchanged  the -snowy 
bridal  robes  for  a  black  dress,  and  wandered  about  the 
garden  like  a  restless  spirit. 

She  spent  most  of  the  day  shut  up  in  her  room,  re- 
fusing to  allow  the  duke,  or  even  her  father,  to  enter. 

In  the  evening,  about  eight  o'clock,  they  received 
tidings  from  Martial. 

A  servant  brought  two  letters ;  one,  sent  by  Martial 
to  his  father,  the  other,  to  his  wife. 

For  a  moment  or  more  Blanche  hesitated  to  open 
the  one  intended  for  her.  It  would  determine  her  des- 
tiny; she  was  afraid. 


400         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 
At  last  she  broke  the  seal  and  read : 

"  MADAME  LA  MARQUISE — Between  you  and  me  all  is 
ended ;  reconciliation  is  impossible. 

"  From  this  moment  you  are  free.  I  esteem  you 
enough  to  hope  that  you  will  respect  the  name  of  Sair- 
meuse,  from  which  I  cannot  relieve  you. 

"  You  will  agree  with  me,  I  am  sure,  in  thinking  a 
quiet  separation  preferable  to  the  scandal  of  a  divorce 
suit. 

"  My  lawyer  will  pay  you  an  allowance  befitting  the 
wife  of  a  man  whose  income  amounts  to  three  hundred 
thousand  francs. 

"  MARTIAL  DE  SAIRMEUSE/' 

Blanche  staggered  beneath  this  terrible  blow.  She 
was  indeed  deserted,  and  deserted,  as  she  supposed,  for 
another. 

"  Ah !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  that  creature !  that  creat- 
ure !  I  will  kill  her !  " 


CHAPTER  XL 

The  twenty-four  hours  which  Blanche  had  spent  in 
measuring  the  extent  of  her  terrible  misfortune,  the 
duke  had  spent  in  raving  and  swearing. 

He  had  not  even  thought  of  going  to  bed. 

After  his  fruitless  search  for  his  son  he  returned  to 
the  chateau,  and  began  a  continuous  tramp  to  and  fro 
in  the  great  hall. 

He  was  almost  sinking  from  weariness  when  his 
son's  letter  was  handed  him. 

It  was  very  brief. 

Martial  did  not  vouchsafe  any  explanation ;   he  did 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   401 

not  even  mention  the  rupture  between  his  wife  and 
himself. 

"  I  cannot  return  to  Sairmeuse,"  he  wrote,  "  and  yet 
it  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that  I  should  see  you. 

"  You  will,  I  trust,  approve  my  determinations  when 
I  explain  the  reasons  that  have  guided  me  in  making 
them. 

"  Come  to  Montaignac,  then,  the  sooner  the  better. 
I  am  waiting  for  you." 

Had  he  listened  to  the  prompting  of  his  impatience, 
the  duke  would  have  started  at  once.  But  how  could 
he  thus  abandon  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu,  who  had 
accepted  his  hospitality,  and  especially  Blanche,  his 
son's  wife? 

He  must,  at  least,  see  them,  speak  to  them,  and  warn 
them  of  his  intended  departure. 

He  attempted  this  in  vain.  Mme.  Blanche  had  shut 
herself  up  in  her  own  apartments,  and  remained  deaf  to 
all  entreaties  for  admittance.  Her  father  had  been  put 
to  bed,  and  the  physician  who  had  been  summoned  to 
attend  him,  declared  the  marquis  to  be  at  death's  door. 

The  duke  was  therefore  obliged  to  resign  himself  to 
the  prospect  of  another  night  of  suspense,  which  was 
almost  intolerable  to  a  character  like  his. 

"  To-morrow,  after  breakfast,  I  will  find  some  pre- 
text to  escape,  without  telling  them  I  am  going  to  see 
Martial,"  he  thought. 

He  was  spared  this  trouble.  The  next  morning,  at 
about  nine  o'clock,  while  he  was  dressing,  a  servant 
came  to  inform  him  that  M.  de  Courtornieu  and  his 
daughter  were  awaiting  him  in  the  drawing-room. 

Much  surprised,  he  hastened  down. 

When  he  entered  the  room,  the  marquis,  who  was 
26 


seated  in  an  arm-chair,  rose,  leaning  heavily  upon  the 
shoulder  of  Aunt  Medea. 

Mme.  Blanche  came  rapidly  forward  to  meet  the 
duke,  as  pale  as  if  every  drop  of  blood  had  been  drawn 
from  her  veins. 

"  We  are  going,  Monsieur  le  Due,"  she  said,  coldly, 
"  and  we  wish  to  make  our  adieux." 

"  What !  you  are  going  ?     Will  you  not ' 

The  young  bride  interrupted  him  by  a  sad  gesture, 
and  drawing  Martial's  letter  from  her  bosom,  she 
handed  it  to  M.  de  Sairmeuse,  saying : 

"  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  peruse  this,  "Mon- 
sieur?" 

The  duke  glanced  over  the  short  epistle,  and  his  as- 
tonishment was  so  intense  that  he  could  not  even  find 
an  oath. 

"  Incomprehensible !  "  he  faltered ;  "  incomprehen- 
sible!" 

"  Incomprehensible,  indeed,"  repeated  the  young 
wife,  sadly,  but  without  bitterness.  "  I  was  married 
yesterday ;  to-day  I  am  deserted.  It  would  have  been 
generous  to  have  reflected  the  evening  before  and  not 
the  next  day.  Tell  Martial,  however,  that  I  forgive 
him  for  having  destroyed  my  life,  for  having  made  me 
the  most  miserable  of  creatures.  I  also  forgive  him 
for  the  supreme  insult  of  speaking  to  me  of  his  fortune. 
I  trust  he  may  be  happy.  Adieu,  Monsieur  le  Due, 
we  shall  never  meet  again.  Adieu !  " 

She  took  her  father's  arm,  and  they  were  about  to 
retire,  when  M.  de  Sairmeuse  hastily  threw  himself 
between  them  and  the  door. 

"  You  shall  not  depart  thus !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I 
will  not  suffer  it.  Wait,  at  least,  until  I  have  seen 
Martial.  Perhaps  he  is  not  as  culpable  as  you  sup- 
pose  " 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   403 

"  Enough !  "  interrupted  the  marquis ;  "  enough ! 
This  is  one  of  those  outrages  which  can  never  be  re- 
paired. May  your  conscience  forgive  you,  as  I,  my- 
self, forgive  you.  Farewell !  " 

This  was  said  so  perfectly,  with  such  entire  harmony 
of  intonation  and  gesture,  that  M.  de  Sairmeuse  was 
bewildered. 

With  an  absolutely  wonderstruck  air  he  watched  the 
marquis  and  his  daughter  depart,  and  they  had  been 
gone  some  moments  before  he  recovered  himself  suffi- 
ciently to  exclaim : 

"  Old  hypocrite !  does  he  believe  me  his  dupe  ?  " 

His  dupe !  M.  de  Sairmeuse  was  so  far  from  being 
his  dupe,  that  his  next  thought  was : 

"  What  is  to  follow  this  farce  ?  He  says  that  he 
pardons  us — that  means  that  he  has  some  crushing 
blow  in  store  for  us." 

This  conviction  filled  him  with  disquietude.  He 
really  felt  unable  to  cope  successfully  with  the  perfidi- 
ous marquis. 

"  But  Martial  is  a  match  for  him !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Yes,  I  must  see  Martial  at  once." 

So  great  was  his  anxiety  that  he  lent  a  helping  hand 
in  harnessing  the  horses  he  had  ordered,  and  when  the 
carriage  was  ready,  he  announced  his  determination  to 
drive  himself. 

As  he  urged  the  horses  furiously  on  he  tried  to  re- 
flect, but  the  most  contradictory  ideas  seethed  in  his 
brain,  and  he  lost  all  power  to  consider  the  situation 
calmly. 

He  burst  into  Martial's  room  like  a  tornado. 

"  I  think  you  must  certainly  have  gone  mad,  Mar- 
quis," he  exclaimed.  "  That  is  the  only  valid  excuse 
you  can  offer." 


404        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

But  Martial,  who  had  been  expecting  this  visit,  had 
prepared  himself  for  it. 

"  Never,  on  the  contrary,  have  I  felt  more  calm  and 
composed  in  mind,"  he  replied.  "  Allow  me  to  ask 
you  one  question.  Was  it  you  who  sent  the  soldiers 
to  the  rendezvous  which  Maurice  d'Escorval  had  ap- 
pointed ?  " 

"  Marquis ! " 

"  Very  well !  Then  it  was  another  act  of  infamy  on 
the  part  of  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu." 

The  duke  made  no  reply.  In  spite  of  his  faults  and 
his  vices,  this  haughty  man  possessed  the  characteris- 
tic of  the  old  French  nobility — fidelity  to  his  word 
and  undoubted  valor. 

He  thought  it  perfectly  natural,  even  necessary,  that 
Martial  should  fight  with  Maurice ;  and  he  thought  it 
a  contemptible  act  to  send  armed  soldiers  to  seize  an 
honest  and  confiding  opponent. 

"  This  is  the  second  time,"  pursued  Martial,  "  that 
this  scoundrel  has  attempted  to  bring  dishonor  upon 
our  name;  and  if  I  desire  to  convince  people  of  the 
truth  of  this  assertion,  I  must  break  off  all  connection 
with  him  and  his  daughter.  I  have  done  this.  I  do 
not  regret  it,  since  I  married  her  only  out  of  deference 
to  your  wishes,  and  because  it  seemed  necessary  for  me 
to  marry,  and  because  all  women,  save  one  who  can 
never  be  mine,  are  alike  to  me." 

Such  utterances  were  not  at  all  calculated  to  reassure 
the  duke. 

"  This  sentiment  is  very  noble,  no  doubt,"  said  he ; 
"  but  it  has  none  the  less  ruined  the  political  prospects 
of  our  house." 

An  almost  imperceptible  smile  curved  Martial's  lips. 

"  I  believe,  on  the  contrary,  that  I  have  saved  them," 
he  replied. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   405 

"  It  is  useless  for  us  to  attempt  to  deceive  ourselves ; 
this  whole  affair  of  the  insurrection  has  been  abomi- 
nable, and  you  have  good  reason  to  bless  the  opportu- 
nity of  freeing  yourself  from  the  responsibility  of  it 
which  this  quarrel  gives  you.  With  a  little  address, 
you  can  throw  all  the  odium  upon  the  Marquis  de 
Courtornieu,  and  keep  for  yourself  only  the  prestige  of 
valuable  service  rendered." 

The  duke's  face  brightened. 

"  Zounds,  Marquis  !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  that  is  a  good 
idea !  In  the  future  I  shall  be  infinitely  less  afraid  of 
Courtornieu." 

Martial  remained  thoughtful. 

"  It  is  not  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  whom  I  fear," 
he  murmured,  "  but  his  daughter — my  wife." 


CHAPTER  XLI 

One  must  have  lived  in  the  country  to  know  with 
what  inconceivable  rapidity  news  flies  from  mouth  to 
mouth. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  news  of  the  scene  at  the 
chateau  reached  Father  Poignot's  farm-house  that 
same  evening. 

It  had  not  been  three  hours  since  Maurice,  Jean 
Lacheneur  and  Bavois  left  the  house,  promising  to  re- 
cross  the  frontier  that  same  night. 

Abbe  Midon  had  decided  to  say  nothing  to  M.  d'Es- 
corval  of  his  son's  return,  and  to  conceal  Marie-Anne's 
presence  in  the  house.  The  baron's  condition  was  so 
critical  that  the  merest  trifle  might  turn  the  scale. 

About  ten  o'clock  the  baron  fell  asleep,  and  the  abbe 
and  Mme.  d'Escorval  went  downstairs  to  talk  with 


406        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

Marie-Anne.  As  they  were  sitting  there  Poignot's 
eldest  son  entered  in  a  state  of  great  excitement. 

After  supper  he  had  gone  with  some  of  his  acquaint- 
ances to  admire  the  splendors  of  the  fete,  and  he  now 
came  rushing  back  to  relate  the  strange  events  of  the 
evening  to  his  father's  guests. 

"  It  is  inconceivable !  "  murmured  the  abbe. 

He  knew  but  too  well,  and  the  others  comprehended 
it  likewise,  that  these  strange  events  rendered  their  sit- 
uation more  perilous  than  ever. 

"  I  cannot  understand  how  Maurice  could  commit 
such  an  act  of  folly  after  what  I  had  just  said  to  him. 
The  baron's  most  cruel  enemy  has  been  his  own  son. 
We  must  wait  until  to-morrow  before  deciding  upon 
anything." 

The  next  day  they  heard  of  the  meeting  at  the  Reche. 
A  peasant  who,  from  a  distance,  had  witnessed  the  pre- 
liminaries of  the  duel  which  had  not  been  fought,  was 
able  to  give  them  the  fullest  details. 

He  had  seen  the  two  adversaries  take  their  places, 
then  the  soldiers  run  to  the  spot,  and  afterward  pursue 
Maurice,  Jean  and  Bavois. 

But  he  was  sure  that  the  soldiers  had  not  overtaken 
them.  He  had  met  them  five  hours  afterward,  har- 
assed and  furious ;  and  the  officer  in  charge  of  the  ex- 
pedition declared  their  failure  to  be  the  fault  of  the 
Marquis  de  Sairmeuse,  who  had  detained  them. 

That  same  day  Father  Poignot  informed  the  abbe 
that  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  and  the  Marquis  de  Court - 
ornieu  were  at  variance.  It  was  the  talk  of  the 
country.  The  marquis  had  returned  to  his  chateau, 
accompanied  by  his  daughter,  and  the  duke  had  gone 
to  Montaignac. 

The  abbe's  anxiety  on  receiving  this  intelligence  was 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   407 

so  poignant  that  he  could  not  conceal  it  from  Baron 
d'Escorval. 

"  You  have  heard  something,  my  friend,"  said  the 
baron. 

"  Nothing,  absolutely  nothing." 

"  Some  new  danger  threatens  us." 

"  None,  I  swear  it." 

The  priest's  protestations  did  not  convince  the  baron. 

"  Oh,  do  not  deny  it !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Night  before 
last,  when  you  entered  my  room  after  I  awoke,  you 
were  paler  than  death,  and  my  wife  had  certainly  been 
crying.  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  " 

Usually,  when  the  cure  did  not  wish  to  reply  to  the 
sick  man's  questions,  it  was  sufficient  to  tell  him  that 
conversation  and  excitement  would  retard  his  recov- 
ery ;  but  this  time  the  baron  was  not  so  docile. 

"  It  will  be  very  easy  for  you  to  restore  my  tran- 
quillity," he  said.  "  Confess  now,  that  you  are  trem- 
bling lest  they  discover  my  retreat.  This  fear  is  tort- 
uring me  also.  Very  well,  swear  to  me  that  you  will 
not  allow  them  to  take  me  alive,  and  then  my  mind  will 
be  at  rest." 

"  I  cannot  take  such  an  oath  as  that,"  said  the  curt, 
turning  pale. 

"  And  why?  "  insisted  M.  d'Escorval.  "  If  I  am  re- 
captured, what  will  happen  ?  They  will  nurse  me,  and 
then,  as  soon  as  I  can  stand  upon  my  feet,  they  will 
shoot  me  down.  Would  it  be  a  crime  to  save  me  from 
such  suffering?  You  are  my  best  friend;  swear  to 
render  me  this  supreme  service.  Would  you  have  me 
curse  you  for  saving  my  life?  " 

The  abbe  made  no  response ;  but  his  eye,  voluntarily 
or  involuntarily,  turned  with  a  peculiar  expression  to 
the  box  of  medicine  standing  upon  the  table  near  by. 

Did  he  wish  to  be  understood  as  saying : 


408        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

"  I  will  do  nothing ;  but  you  will  find  a  poison 
there." 

M.  d'Escorval  understood  it  in  this  way,  for  it  was 
with  an  accent  of  gratitude  that  he  murmured : 

"  Thanks !  " 

Now  that  he  felt  that  he  was  master  of  his  life  he 
breathed  more  freely.  From  that  moment  his  condi- 
tion, so  long  desperate,  began  to  improve. 

"  I  can  defy  all  my  enemies  from  this  hour,"  he  said, 
with  a  gayety  which  certainly  was  not  feigned. 

Day  after  day  passed  and  the  abbe's  sinister  appre- 
hensions were  not  realized ;  he,  too,  began  to  regain 
confidence. 

Instead  of  causing  an  increase  of  severity,  Maurice's 
and  Jean  Lacheneur's  frightful  imprudence  had  been, 
as  it  were,  the  point  of  departure  for  a  universal  in- 
dulgence. 

One  might  reasonably  have  supposed  that  the  au- 
thorities of  Montaignac  had  forgotten,  and  desired  to 
have  forgotten,  if  that  were  possible,  Lacheneur's  con- 
spiracy, and  the  abominable  slaughter  for  which  it  had 
been  made  the  pretext. 

They  soon  heard  at  the  farm  that  Maurice  and  the 
brave  corporal  had  succeeded  in  reaching  Piedmont. 

No  allusion  was  made  to  Jean  Lacheneur,  so  it  was 
supposed  that  he  had  not  left  the  country ;  but  they 
had  no  reason  to  fear  for  his  safety,  since  he  was  not 
upon  the  proscribed  list. 

Later,  it  was  rumored  that  the  Marquis  de  Courtor- 
nieu  was  ill,  and  that  Mme.  Blanche  did  not  leave  his 
bedside. 

Soon  afterward,  Father  Poignot,  on  returning  from 
Montaignac,  reported  that  the  duke  had  just  passed  a 
week  in  Paris,  and  that  he  was  now  on  his  way  home 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   409 

with  one  more  decoration — another  proof  of  royal 
favor — and  that  he  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  an  order 
for  the  release  of  all  the  conspirators,  who  were  now  in 
prison. 

It  was  impossible  to  doubt  this  intelligence,  for  the 
Montaignac  papers  mentioned  this  fact,  with  all  the 
circumstances  on  the  following  day. 

The  abbe  attributed  this  sudden  and  happy  change 
entirely  to  the  rupture  between  the  duke  and  the  mar- 
quis, and  this  was  the  universal  opinion  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. Even  the  retired  officers  remarked: 

"  The  duke  is  decidedly  better  than  he  is  supposed 
to  be,  and  if  he  has  been  severe,  it  is  only  because  he 
was  influenced  by  that  odious  Marquis  de  Courtor- 
nieu." 

Marie-Anne  alone  suspected  the  truth.  A  secret 
presentiment  told  her  that  it  was  Martial  de  Sairmeuse 
who  had  shaken  off  his  wonted  apathy,  and  was  work- 
ing these  changes  and  using  and  abusing  his  ascend- 
ancy over  the  mind  of  his  father. 

"  And  it  is  for  your  sake,"  whispered  an  inward 
voice,  "  that  Martial  is  thus  working.  What  does 
this  careless  egotist  care  for  these  obscure  peasants, 
whose  names  he  does  not  even  know  ?  If  he  protects 
them,  it  is  only  that  he  may  have  a  right  to  protect  you, 
and  those  whom  you  love !  " 

With  these  thoughts  in  her  mind,  she  could  not  but 
feel  her  aversion  to  Martial  diminish. 

Was  not  such  conduct  truly  heroic  in  a  man  whose 
dazzling  offers  she  had  refused?  Was  there  not  real 
moral  grandeur  in  the  feeling  that  induced  Martial  to 
reveal  a  secret  which  might  ruin  the  political  fortunes 
of  his  house,  rather  than  be  suspected  of  an  unworthy 
action?  And  still  the  thought  of  this  grande  passion 


410        THE   HONOR    OF   THE    NAME 

which  she  had  inspired  in  so  truly  great  a  man  never 
once  made  her  heart  quicken  its  throbbing. 

Alas !  nothing  was  capable  of  touching  her  heart 
now ;  nothing  seemed  to  reach  her  through  the  gloomy 
sadness  that  enveloped  her. 

She  was  but  the  ghost  of  the  formerly  beautiful  and 
radiant  Marie-Anne.  Her  quick,  alert  tread  had  be- 
come slow  and  dragging,  often  she  sat  for  whole  days 
motionless  in  her  chair,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  vacancy, 
her  lips  contracted  as  if  by  a  spasm,  while  great  tears 
rolled  silently  down  her  cheeks. 

Abbe  Midon,  who  was  greatly  disquieted  on  her  ac- 
count, often  attempted  to  question  her. 

"  You  are  suffering,  my  child,"  he  said,  kindly. 
"What  is  the  matter?" 

"I  am  not  ill,  Monsieur." 

"  Why  do  you  not  confide  in  me  ?  Am  I  not  your 
friend  ?  What  do  you  fear  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  sadly  and  replied : 

"  I  have  nothing  to  confide." 

She  said  this,  and  yet  she  was  dying  of  sorrow  and 
anguish. 

Faithful  to  the  promise  she  had  made  Maurice,  she 
had  said  nothing  of  her  condition,  or  of  the  marriage 
solemnized  in  the  little  church  at  Vigano.  And  she 
saw  with  inexpressible  terror,  the  approach  of  the  mo- 
ment when  she  could  no  longer  keep  her  secret.  Her 
agony  was  frightful ;  but  what  could  she  do ! 

Fly?  but  where  should  she  go?  And  by  going, 
would  she  not  lose  all  chance  of  hearing  from  Maurice, 
which  was  the  only  hope  that  sustained  her  in  this  try- 
ing hour? 

She  had  almost  determined  on  flight  when  circum- 
stances— providentially,  it  seemed  to  her — came  'o  her 
aid. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME         4" 

Money  was  needed  at  the  farm.  The  guests  were 
unable  to  obtain  any  without  betraying  their  where- 
abouts, and  Father  Poignot's  little  store  was  almost 
exhausted. 

Abbe  Midon  was  wondering  what  they  were  to  do, 
when  Marie-Anne  told  him  of  the  will  which  Chan- 
louineau  had  made  in  her  favor,  and  of  the  money  con- 
cealed beneath  the  hearth-stone  in  the  best  chamber. 

"  I  might  go  to  the  Borderie  at  night,"  suggested 
Marie-Anne,  "  enter  the  house,  which  is  unoccupied, 
obtain  the  money  and  bring  it  here.  I  have  a  right  to 
do  so,  have  I  not  ?  " 

But  the  priest  did  not  approve  this  step. 

"  You  might  be  seen,"  said  he,  "  and  who  knows — 
perhaps  arrested.  If  you  were  questioned,  what  plaus- 
ible explanation  could  you  give?  " 

"What  shall  I  do,  then?" 

"  Act  openly ;  you  are  not  compromised.  Make 
your  appearance  in  Sairmeuse  to-morrow  as  if  you  had 
just  returned  from  Piedmont ;  go  to  the  notary,  take 
possession  of  your  property,  and  install  yourself  at  the 
Borderie." 

Marie-Anne  shuddered. 

"  Live  in  Chanlouineau's  house,"  she  faltered.  "  I 
alone!" 

"  Heaven  will  protect  you,  my  dear  child.  I  can  see 
only  advantages  in  your  installation  at  the  Borderie. 
It  will  be  easy  to  communicate  with  you ;  and  with  or- 
dinary precautions  there  can  be  no  danger.  Before 
your  departure  we  will  decide  upon  a  place  of  rendez- 
vous, and  two  or  three  times  a  week  you  can  meet 
Father  Poignot  there.  And,  in  the  course  of  two  or 
three  months  you  can  be  still  more  useful  to  us.  When 
people  have  become  accustomed  to  your  residence  at 


412         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

the  Borderie,  we  will  take  the  baron  there.  His  con- 
valescence will  be  much  more  rapid  there,  than  here  in 
this  cramped  and  narrow  loft,  where  we  are  obliged  to 
conceal  him  now,  and  where  he  is  really  suffering  for 
light  and  air." 

So  it  was  decided  that  Father  Poignot  should  ac- 
company Marie-Anne  to  the  frontier  that  very  night; 
there  she  would  take  the  diligence  that  ran  between 
Piedmont  and  Montaignac,  passing  through  the  vil- 
lage of  Sairmeuse. 

It  was  with  the  greatest  care  that  the  abbe  dictated  to 
Marie-Anne  the  story  she  was  to  tell  of  her  sojourn  in 
foreign  lands.  All  that  she  said,  and  all  her  answers 
to  questions  must  tend  to  prove  that  Baron  d'Escorval 
was  concealed  near  Turin. 

The  plan  was  carried  out  in  every  particular;  and 
the  next  day,  about  eight  o'clock,  the  people  of  Sair- 
meuse were  greatly  astonished  to  see  Marie-Anne 
alight  from  the  diligence. 

"  Monsieur  Lacheneur's  daughter  has  returned !  " 

The  words  flew  from  lip  to  lip  with  marvellous  ra- 
pidity, and  soon  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  village  were 
gathered  at  the  doors  and  windows. 

They  saw  the  poor  girl  pay  the  driver,  and  enter  the 
inn,  followed  by  a  boy  bearing  a  small  trunk. 

In  the  city,  curiosity  has  some  shame ;  it  hides  itself 
while  it  spies  into  the  affairs  of  its  neighbors ;  but  in 
the  country  it  has  no  such  scruples. 

When  Marie-Anne  emerged  from  the  inn,  she  found 
a  crowd  awaiting  her  with  open  mouths  and  staring 
eyes. 

And  more  than  twenty  people  making  all  sorts  of 
comments,  followed  her  to  the  door  of  the  notary. 

He  was  a  man  of  importance,  this  notary,  and  he 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    413 

welcomed  Marie-Anne  with  all  the  deference  due  an 
heiress  of  an  unencumbered  property,  worth  from  forty 
to  fifty  thousand  francs. 

But  jealous  of  his  renown  for  perspicuity,  he  gave 
her  clearly  to  understand  that  he,  being  a  man  of  ex- 
perience, had  divined  that  love  alone  had  dictated 
Chanlouineau's  last  will  and  testament. 

Marie-Anne's  composure  and  resignation  made  him 
really  angry. 

"  You  forget  what  brings  me  here,"  she  said ;  "  you 
do  not  tell  me  what  I  have  to  do !  " 

The  notary,  thus  interrupted,  made  no  further  at- 
tempts at  consolation. 

"  Peste! "  he  thought,  "  she  is  in  a  hurry  to  get  pos- 
session of  her  property — the  avaricious  creature !  " 

Then  aloud : 

"  The  business  can  be  terminated  at  once,  for  the  jus- 
tice of  the  peace  is  at  liberty  to-day,  and  he  can  go 
with  us  to  break  the  seals  this  afternoon." 

So,  before  evening,  all  the  legal  requirements  were 
complied  with,  and  Marie-Anne  was  formally  installed 
at  the  Borderie. 

She  was  alone  in  Chanlouineau's  house — alone! 
Night  came  on  and  a  great  terror  seized  her  heart.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  the  doors  were  about  to  open,  that 
this  man  who  had  loved  her  so  much  would  appear 
before  her,  and  that  she  would  hear  his  voice  as  she 
heard  it  for  the  last  time  in  his  grim  prison-cell. 

She  fought  against  these  foolish  fears,  lit  a  lamp, 
and  went  through  this  house — now  hers — in  which 
everything  spoke  so  forcibly  of  its  former  owner. 

Slowly  she  examined  the  different  rooms  on  the 
lower  floor,  noting  the  recent  repairs  which  had  been 
made  and  the  conveniences  which  had  been  added,  and 


4U        THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

at  last  she  ascended  to  that  room  above  which  Chan- 
louineau  had  made  the  tabernacle  of  his  passion. 

Here,  everything  was  magnificent,  far  more  so  than 
his  words  had  led  her  to  suppose.  The  poor  peasant 
who  made  his  breakfast  off  a  crust  and  a  bit  of  onion 
had  lavished  a  small  fortune  on  the  decorations  of  this 
apartment,  designed  as  a  sanctuary  for  his  idol. 

"  How  he  loved  me !  "  murmured  Marie-Anne, 
moved  by  that  emotion,  the  bare  thought  of  which 
had  awakened  the  jealousy  of  Maurice. 

But  she  had  neither  the  time  nor  the  right  to  yield 
to  her  feelings.  Father  Poignot  was  doubtless,  even 
then,  awaiting  her  at  the  rendezvous. 

She  lifted  the  hearth-stone,  and  found  the  sum  of 
money  which  Chanlouineau  had  named. 

The  next  morning,  when  he  awoke,  the  abbe  received 
the  money. 

Now,  Marie- Anne  could  breathe  freely;  and  this 
peace,  after  so  many  trials  and  agitations,  seemed  to 
her  almost  happiness. 

Faithful  to  the  abbe's  instructions,  she  lived  alone ; 
but,  by  frequent  visits,  she  accustomed  the  people  of 
the  neighborhood  to  her  presence. 

Yes,  she  would  have  been  almost  happy,  could  she 
have  had  news  of  Maurice.  What  had  become  of  him  ? 
Why  did  he  give  no  sign  of  life  ?  What  would  she  not 
have  given  in  exchange  for  some  word  of  counsel  and 
of  love  from  him  ? 

The  time  was  fast  approaching  when  she  would  re- 
quire a  confidant ;  and  there  was  no  one  in  whom  she 
could  confide. 

In  this  hour  of  extremity,  when  she  really  felt  that 
her  reason  was  failing  her,  she  remembered  the  old 
physician  at  Vigano,  who  had  been  one  of  the  wit- 
nesses to  her  marriage. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    415 

"  He  would  help  me  if  I  called  upon  him  for  aid," 
she  thought. 

She  had  no  time  to  temporize  or  to  reflect;  she 
wrote  to  him  immediately,  giving  the  letter  in  charge 
of  a  youth  in  the  neighborhood. 

"  The  gentleman  says  you  may  rely  upon  him," 
said  the  messenger  on  his  return. 

That  very  evening  Marie-Anne  heard  someone  rap 
at  her  door.  It  was  the  kind-hearted  old  man  who  had 
come  to  her  relief. 

He  remained  at  the  Borderie  nearly  a  fortnight. 

When  he  departed  one  morning,  before  daybreak, 
he  took  away  with  him  under  his  large  cloak  an  infant 
— a  boy — whom  he  had  sworn  to  cherish  as  his  own 
child. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

To  quit  Sairmeuse  without  any  display  of  violence 
had  cost  Blanche  an  almost  superhuman  effort. 

The  wildest  anger  convulsed  her  soul  at  the  very 
moment,  when,  with  an  assumption  of  melancholy 
dignity,  she  murmured  those  words  of  forgiveness. 

Ah  !  had  she  obeyed  the  dictates  of  her  resentment ! 

But  her  indomitable  vanity  aroused  within  her  the 
heroism  of  a  gladiator  dying  on  the  arena,  with  a  smile 
upon  his  lips. 

Falling,  she  intended  to  fall  gracefully. 

"  No  one  shall  see  me  weep ;  no  one  shall  hear  me 
complain,"  she  said  to  her  despondent  father ;  "  try  to 
imitate  me." 

And  on  her  return  to  the  Chateau  de  Courtornieu, 
she  was  a  stoic. 

Her  face,  although  pale,  was  as  immobile  as  marble, 
beneath  the  curious  gaze  of  the  servants. 


416         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  I  am  to  be  called  mademoiselle  as  in  the  past,"  she 
said,  imperiously.  "  Anyone  forgetting  this  order 
will  be  dismissed." 

A  maid  forgot  that  very  day,  and  uttered  the  pro- 
hibited word,  "  madame."  The  poor  girl  was  instant- 
ly dismissed,  in  spite  of  her  tears  and  protestations. 

All  the  servants  were  indignant. 

"  Does  she  hope  to  make  us  forget  that  she  is  mar- 
ried and  that  her  husband  has  deserted  her  ?  "  they 
queried. 

Alas !  she  wished  to  forget  it  herself.  She  wished 
to  annihilate  all  recollection  of  that  fatal  day  whose 
sun  had  seen  her  a  maiden,  a  wife,  and  a  widow. 

For  was  she  not  really  a  widow? 

Only  it  was  not  death  which  had  deprived  her  of  her 
husband,  but  an  odious  rival — an  infamous  and  per- 
fidious creature  lost  to  all  sense  of  shame. 

And  yet,  though  she  had  been  disdained,  abandoned, 
and  repulsed,  she  was  no  longer  free. 

She  belonged  to  the  man  whose  name  she  bore  like 
a  badge  of  servitude — to  the  man  who  hated  her,  who 
fled  from  her. 

She  was  not  yet  twenty ;  and  this  was  the  end  of  her 
youth,  of  her  life,  of  her  hopes,  and  even  of  her  dreams. 

Society  condemned  her  to  solitude,  while  Martial  was 
free  to  rove  wheresoever  fancy  might  lead  him. 

Now  she  saw  the  disadvantage  of  isolating  one's 
self.  She  had  not  been  without  friends  in  her  school- 
girl days ;  but  after  leaving  the  convent  she  had  alien- 
ated them  by  her  haughtiness,  on  finding  them  not  as 
high  in  rank,  nor  as  rich  as  herself.  She  was  now  re- 
duced to  the  irritating  consolations  of  Aunt  Medea, 
who  was  a  worthy  person,  undoubtedly,  but  her  tears 
flowed  quite  as  freely  for  the  loss  of  a  cat,  as  for  the 
death  of  a  relative. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    417 

But  Blanche  bravely  resolved  that  she  would  con- 
ceal her  grief  and  despair  in  the  recesses  of  her  own 
heart. 

She  drove  about  the  country ;  she  wore  the  prettiest 
dresses  in  her  trousseau;  she  forced  herself  to  appear 
gay  and  indifferent. 

But  on  going  to  attend  high  mass  in  Sairmeuse  the 
following  Sunday,  she  realized  the  futility  of  her  ef- 
forts. 

People  did  not  look  at  her  haughtily,  or  even  curi- 
ously ;  but  they  turned  away  their  heads  to  laugh,  and 
she  overheard  remarks  upon  the  maiden  widow  which 
pierced  her  very  soul. 

They  mocked  her ;  they  ridiculed  her ! 

"  Oh !   I  will  have  my  revenge  !  "  she  muttered. 

But  she  had  not  waited  for  these  insults  before  think- 
ing of  vengeance ;  and  she  had  found  her  father  quite 
ready  to  assist  her  in  her  plans. 

For  the  first  time  the  father  and  the  daughter  were 
in  accord. 

"  The  Due  de  Sairmeuse  shall  learn  what  it  costs  to 
aid  in  the  escape  of  a  prisoner  and  to  insult  a  man  like 
me.  Fortune,  favor,  position — he  shall  lose  all !  I 
hope  to  see  him  ruined  and  dishonored  at  my  feet. 
You  shall  see  that  day !  you  shall  see  that  day !  "  said 
the  marquis,  vehemently. 

But,  unfortunately  for  him  and  his  plans,  he  was  ex- 
tremely ill  for  three  days,  after  the  scene  at  Sairmeuse ; 
then  he  wasted  three  days  more  in  composing  a  report, 
which  was  intended  to  crush  his  former  ally. 

This  delay  ruined  him,  since  it  gave  Martial  time  to 
perfect  his  plans  and  to  send  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  to 
Paris  skilfully  indoctrinated. 
27 


4i8         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

And  what  did  the  duke  say  to  the  King,  who  ac- 
corded him  such  a  gracious  reception  ? 

He  undoubtedly  pronounced  the  first  reports  false, 
reduced  the  Montaignac  revolution  to  its  proper  pro- 
portions, represented  Lacheneur  as  a  fool,  and  his  fol- 
lowers as  inoffensive  idiots. 

Perhaps  he  led  the  King  to  suppose  that  the  Marquis 
de  Courtornieu  might  have  provoked  the  outbreak  by 
undue  severity.  He  had  served  under  Napoleon,  and 
possibly  had  thought  it  necessary  to  make  a  display  of 
his  zeal.  There  have  been  such  cases. 

So  far  as  he  himself  was  concerned,  he  deeply  de- 
plored the  mistakes  into  which  he  had  been  led  by  the 
ambitious  marquis,  upon  whom  he  cast  most  of  the  re- 
sponsibility for  the  blood  which  had  been  shed. 

The  result  of  all  this  was,  that  when  the  Marquis  de 
Courtornieu's  report  reached  Paris,  it  was  answered 
by  a  decree  depriving  him  of  the  office  of  grand  pre- 
vot. 

This  unexpected  blow  crushed  him. 

To  think  that  a  man  as  shrewd,  as  subtle-minded,  as 
quick-witted,  and  adroit  as  himself — a  man  who  had 
passed  through  so  many  troubled  epochs,  who  had 
served  with  the  same  obsequious  countenance  all  the 
masters  who  would  accept  his  services — to  think  that 
such  a  man  should  have  been  thus  duped  and  betrayed ! 

"  It  must  be  that  old  imbecile,  the  Due  de  Sair- 
meuse,  who  has  manoeuvred  so  skilfully,  and  with  so 
much  address,"  he  said.  "  But  who  advised  him?  I 
cannot  imagine  who  it  could  have  been."  , 

Who  it  was  Mme.  Blanche  knew  only  too  well. 

She  recognized  Martial's  hand  in  all  this,  as  Marie- 
Anne  had  done. 

"  Ah !  I  was  not  deceived  in  him,"  she  thought ;  "  he 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    419 

is  the  great  diplomatist  I  believed  him  to  be.  At  his 
age  to  outwit  my  father,  an  old  politician  of  such  ex- 
perience and  acknowledged  astuteness !  And  he  does 
all  this  to  please  Marie-Anne,"  she  continued,  frantic 
with  rage.  "  It  is  the  first  step  toward  obtaining  par- 
don for  the  friends  of  that  vile  creature.  She  has  un- 
bounded influence  over  him,  and  so  long  as  she  lives 
there  is  no  hope  for  me.  But,  patience." 

She  was  patient,  realizing  that  he  who  wishes  to 
surely  attain  his  revenge  must  wait,  dissimulate,  pre- 
pare an  opportunity,  but  not  force  it. 

What  her  revenge  should  be  she  had  not  yet  decided ; 
but  she  already  had  her  eye  upon  a  man  whom  she  be- 
lieved would  be  a  willing  instrument  in  her  hands,  and 
capable  of  doing  anything  for  money. 

But  how  had  such  a  man  chanced  to  cross  the  path 
of  Mme.  Blanche?  How  did  it  happen  that  she 
was  cognizant  of  the  existence  of  such  a  person  ? 

It  was  the  result  of  one  of  those  simple  combinations 
of  circumstances  which  go  by  the  name  of  chance. 

Burdened  with  remorse,  despised  and  jeered  at,  and 
stoned  whenever  he  showed  himself  upon  the  street, 
and  horror-stricken  whenever  he  thought  of  the  ter- 
rible threats  of  Balstain,  the  Piedmontese  innkeeper, 
Chupin  left  Montaignac  and  came  to  beg  an  asylum  at 
the  Chateau  de  Sairmeuse. 

In  his  ignorance,  he  thought  that  the  grand  seigneur 
who  had  employed  him,  and  who  had  profited  by  his 
treason,  owed  him,  over  and  above  the  promised 
reward,  aid  and  protection. 

But  the  servants  shunned  him.  They  would  not 
allow  him  a  seat  at  the  kitchen-table,  nor  would  the 
grooms  allow  him  to  sleep  in  the  stables.  They  threw 
him  a  bone,  as  they  would  have  thrown  it  to  a  dog; 
and  he  slept  where  he  could. 


420        THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

He  bore  all  this  uncomplainingly,  deeming  himself 
fortunate  in  being  able  to  purchase  comparative  safety 
at  such  a  price. 

But  when  the  duke  returned  from  Paris  with  a  policy 
of  forgetfulness  and  conciliation  in  his  pocket,  he  would 
no  longer  tolerate  the  presence  of  this  man,  who  was 
the  object  of  universal  execration. 

He  ordered  the  dismissal  of  Chupin. 

The  latter  resisted,  swearing  that  he  would  not  leave 
Sairmeuse  unless  he  was  forcibly  expelled,  or  unless 
he  received  the  order  from  the  lips  of  the  duke  him- 
self. 

This  obstinate  resistance  was  reported  to  the  duke. 
It  made  him  hesitate ;  but  the  necessity  of  the  moment, 
and  a  word  from  Martial,  decided  him. 

He  sent  for  Chupin  and  told  him  that  he  must  not 
visit  Sairmeuse  again  under  any  pretext  whatever,  soft- 
ening the  harshness  of  expulsion,  however,  by  the 
offer  of  a  small  sum  of  money. 

B*ut  Chupin  sullenly  refused  the  money,  gathered 
his  belongings  together,  and  departed,  shaking  his 
clinched  fist  at  the  chateau,  and  vowing  vengeance  on 
the  Sairmeuse  family.  Then  he  went  to  his  old  home, 
where  his  wife  and  his  two  boys  still  lived. 

He  seldom  left  the  house,  and  then  only  to  satisfy 
his  passion  for  hunting.  At  such  times,  instead  of  hid- 
ing and  surrounding  himself  with  every  precaution,  as 
he  had  done,  before  shooting  a  squirrel  or  a  few  par- 
tridges, in  former  times,  he  went  boldly  to  the  Sair- 
meuse or  the  Courtornieu  forests,  shot  his  game,  and 
brought  it  home  openly,  almost  defiantly. 

The  rest  of  the  time  he  spent  in  a  state  of  semi-in- 
toxication, for  he  drank  constantly  and  more  and  more 
immoderately.  When  he  had  taken  more  than  usual, 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    421 

his  wife  and  his  sons  generally  attempted  to  obtain 
money  from  him,  and  if  persuasions  failed  they  re- 
sorted to  blows. 

For  he  had  never  given  them  the  reward  of  his  trea- 
son. What  had  he  done  with  the  twenty  thousand 
francs  in  gold  which  had  been  paid  him?  No  one 
knew.  His  sons  believed  he  had  buried  it  somewhere ; 
but  they  tried  in  vain  to  wrest  his  secret  from  him. 

All  the  people  in  the  neighborhood  were  aware  of 
this  state  of  affairs,  and  regarded  it  as  a  just  punish- 
ment for  the  traitor.  Mme.  Blanche  overheard  one 
of  the  gardeners  telling  the  story  to  two  of  his  assist- 
ants: 

"  Ah,  the  man  is  an  old  scoundrel !  "  he  said,  his  face 
crimson  with  indignation.  "  He  should  be  in  the  gal- 
leys, and  not  at  large  among  respectable  people." 

"  He  is  a  man  who  would  serve  your  purpose,"  the 
voice  of  hatred  whispered  in  Blanche's  ear. 

"  But  how  can  I  find  an  opportunity  to  confer  with 
him  ?  "  she  wondered.  Mme.  Blanche  was  too  pru- 
dent to  think  of  hazarding  a  visit  to  his  house,  but  she 
remembered  that  he. hunted  occasionally  in  the  Court- 
ornieu  woods,  and  that  it  might  be  possible  for  her  to 
meet  him  there. 

"  It  will  only  require  a  little  perseverance  and  a  few 
long  walks,"  she  said  to  herself. 

But  it  cost  poor  Aunt  Medea,  the  inevitable  chap- 
eron, two  long  weeks  of  almost  continued  walking. 

"  Another  freak !  "  groaned  the  poor  relative,  over- 
come with  fatigue  ;  "  my  niece  is  certainly  crazy !  " 

But  one  lovely  afternoon  in  May  Blanche  discovered 
what  she  sought. 

It  was  in  a  sequestered  spot  near  the  lake.  Chupin 
was  tramping  sullenly  along  with  his  gun  in  his  hand, 


422         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

glancing  suspiciously  on  every  side!  Not  that  he 
feared  the  game-keeper  or  a  verbal  process,  but  wher- 
ever he  went,  he  fancied  he  saw  Balstain  walking  in 
his  shadow,  with  that  terrible  knife  in  his  hand. 

Seeing  Mme.  Blanche  he  tried  to  hide  himself  in 
the  forest,  but  she  prevented  it  by  calling : 

"  Father  Chupin  !  " 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  he  paused,  dropped 
his  gun,  and  waited. 

Aunt  Medea  was  pale  with  fright. 

"  Blessed  Jesus !  "  she  murmured,  pressing  her 
niece's  arm ;  "  why  do  you  call  that  terrible  man  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  speak  with  him." 

"  What,  Blanche,  do  you  dare ~" 

"  I  must !  " 

"  No,  I  cannot  allow  it.    I  must  not " 

''  There,  that  is  enough,"  said  Blanche,  with  one  of 
those  imperious  glances  that  deprive  a  dependent  of 
all  strength  and  courage ;  "  quite  enough." 

Then,  in  gentler  tones  : 

"  I  must  talk  with  this  man,"  she  added. 

"  You,  Aunt  Medea,  will  remain  at  a  little  distance. 
Keep  a  close  watch  on  every  side,  and  if  you  see  any- 
one approaching,  call  me,  whoever  it  may  be." 

Aunt  Medea,  submissive  as  she  was  ever  wont  to  be, 
obeyed ;  and  Mme.  Blanche  advanced  toward  the 
old  poacher,  who  stood  as  motionless  as  the  trunks  of 
the  giant  trees  around  him. 

"  Well,  my  good  Father  Chupin,  what  sort  of  sport 
have  you  had  to-day  ?  "  she  began,  when  she  was  a 
few  steps  from  him. 

"What  do  you  want  with  me?"  growled  Chupin; 
"  for  you  do  want  something,  or  you  would  not  trouble 
yourself  about  such  as  I." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    423 

It  required  all  Blanche's  determination  to  repress  a 
gesture  of  fright  and  of  disgust ;  but,  in  a  resolute  tone, 
she  replied : 

"  Yes,  it  is  true  that  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  you." 

"  Ah,  ha !  I  supposed  so." 

"  A  mere  trifle  which  will  cost  you '  no  trouble  and 
for  which  you  shall  be  well  paid." 

She  said  this  so  carelessly  that  one  would  really  have 
supposed  the  service  was  unimportant ;  but  cleverly  as 
she  played  her  part,  Chupin  was  not  deceived. 

"  No  one  asks  trifling  services  of  a  man  like  me,"  he 
said  coarsely. 

"  Since  I  have  served  the  good  cause,  at  the  peril  of 
my  life,  people  seem  to  suppose  that  they  have  a  right 
to  come  to  me  with  their  money  in  their  hands,  when 
they  desire  any  dirty  work  done.  It  is  true  that  I  was 
well  paid  for  that  other  job  ;  but  I  would  like  to  melt  all 
the  gold  and  pour  it  down  the  throats  of  those  who 
gave  it  to  me. 

"  Ah !  I  know  what  it  costs  the  humble  to  listen  to 
the  words  of  the  great !  Go  your  way ;  and  if  you  have 
any  wickedness  in  your  head,  do  it  yourself !  " 

He  shouldered  his  gun  and  was  moving  away,  when 
Mme.  Blanche  said,  coldly : 

"  It  was  because  I  knew  your  wrongs  that  I  stopped 
you ;  I  thought  you  would  be  glad  to  serve  me,  because 
I  hate  the  Sairmeuse." 

These  words  excited  the  interest  of  the  old  poacher, 
and  he  paused. 

"  I  know  very  well  that  you  hate  the  Sairmeuse  now 
_but " 

"But  what!" 

"  In  less  than  a  month  you  will  be  reconciled.  And 
you  will  pay  the  expenses  of  the  war  and  of  the  recon- 
ciliation ?  That  old  wretch,  Chupin " 


424        THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  We  shall  never  be  reconciled." 

"  Hum !  "  he  growled,  after  deliberating  awhile. 
"  And  if  I  should  aid  you,  what  compensation  will  you 
give  me  ?  " 

"  I  will  give  you  whatever  you  desire — money,  land, 
a  house " 

"  Many  thanks.    I  desire  something  quite  different." 

"  What?    Name  your  conditions." 

Chupin  reflected  a  moment,  then  he  replied : 

"  This  is  what  I  desire.  I  have  enemies — I  do  not 
even  feel  safe  in  my  own  house.  My  sons  abuse  me 
when  I  have  been  drinking;  my  wife  is  quite 
capable  of  poisoning  my  wine;  I  tremble  for  my 
life  and  for  my  money.  I  cannot  endure  this  existence 
much  longer.  Promise  me  an  asylum  in  the  Chateau 
de  Courtornieu,  and  I  am  yours.  In  your  house  I 
shall  be  safe.  But  let  it  be  understood,  I  will  not  be 
ill-treated  by  the  servants  as  I  was  at  Sairmeuse." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  desire." 

"  Swear  it  by  your  hope  of  heaven." 

"  I  swear." 

There  was  such  an  evident  sincerity  in  her  accent 
that  Chupin  was  reassured.  He  leaned  toward  her, 
and  said,  in  a  low  voice : 

"  Now  tell  me  your  business." 

His  small  gray  eyes  glittered  with  a  demoniac  light ; 
his  thin  lips  were  tightly  drawn  over  his  sharp  teeth ; 
he  was  evidently  expecting  some  proposition  to  mur- 
der, and  he  was  ready. 

His  attitude  showed  this  so  plainly  that  Blanche 
shuddered. 

"  Really,  what  I  ask  of  you  is  almost  nothing,"  she 
replied.  "  I  only  wish  you  to  watch  the  Marquis  de 
Sairmeuse." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    425 

"Your  husband?" 

"  Yes ;  my  husband.  I  wish  to  know  what  he  does, 
where  he  goes,  and  what  persons  he  sees.  I  wish  to 
know  how  each  moment  of  his  time  is  spent." 

"  What !  seriously,  frankly,  is  this  all  that  you  desire 
of  me?  "  Chupin  asked. 

"  For  the  present,  yes.  My  plans  are  not  yet  decided. 
It  depends  upon  circumstances  what  action  I  shall 
take." 

"  You  can  rely  upon  me,"  he  responded ;  "  but  I 
must  have  a  little  time." 

"  Yes,  I  understand.  To-day  is  Saturday ;  will  you 
be  ready  to  report  on  Thursday  ?  " 

"  In  five  days  ?    Yes,  probably." 

"In  that  case,  meet  me  here  on. Thursday,  at  this 
same  hour." 

A  cry  from  Aunt  Medea  interrupted  them. 

"  Someone  is  coming- ! "  Mme.  Blanche  ex- 
claimed. "  Quick !  we  must  not  be  seen  together. 
Conceal  yourself." 

With  a  bound  the  old  poacher  disappeared  in  the 
forest. 

A  servant  had  approached  Aunt  Medea,  and  was 
speaking  to  her  with  great  animation. 

Blanche  hastened  toward  them. 

"  Ah !  Mademoiselle,"  exclaimed  the  servant,  "  we 
have  been  seeking  you  everywhere  for  three  hours. 
Your  father,  monsieur  le  marquis — mon  Dieu!  what 
a  misfortune !  A  physician  has  been  summoned." 

"  Is  my  father  dead  ?  " 

"  No,  Mademoiselle,  no ;  but — how  can  I  tell  you  ? 
When  the  marquis  went  out  this  morning  his  actions 
were  very  strange,  and — and — when  he  returned " 

As  he  spoke  the  servant  tapped  his  forehead  with 
the  end  of  his  forefinger. 


426 

"  You  understand  me,  Mademoiselle — when  he  re- 
turned, reason  had  fled !  " 

Without  waiting  for  her  terrified  aunt,  Blanche  dart- 
ed in  the  direction  of  the  chateau. 

"  How  is  the  marquis  ?  "  she  inquired  of  the  first 
servant  whom  she  met. 

"  He  is  in  his  room  on  the  bed ;  he  is  more  quiet 
now." 

She  had  already  reached  his  room.  He  was  seated 
upon  the  bed,  and  two  servants  were  watching  his  every 
movement.  His  face  was  livid,  and  a  white  foam  had 
gathered  upon  his  lips.  Still,  he  recognized  his  daugh- 
ter. 

"  Here  you  are,"  said  he.    "  I  was  waiting  for  you." 

She  remained  upon  the  threshold,  quite  overcome, 
although  she  was  neither  tender-hearted  nor  impres- 
sionable. 

"  My  father !  "  she  faltered.  "  Good  heavens  !  what 
has  happened  ?  "  He  uttered  a  discordant  laugh. 

"  Ah,  ha !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  met  him.  Do  you 
doubt  me?  I  tell  you  that  I  saw  the  wretch.  I  know 
him  well;  have  I  not  seen  his  cursed  face  before  my 
eyes  for  more  than  a  month — for  it  never  leaves  me. 
I  saw  him.  It  was  in  the  forest  near  the  Sanguille 
rocks.  You  know  the  place;  it  is  always  dark  there, 
on  account  of  the  trees.  I  was  returning  slowly,  think- 
ing of  him,  when  suddenly  he  sprang  up  before 
me,  extending  his  arms  as  if  to  bar  my  passage. 

"  '  Come,'  said  he,  '  you  must  come  and  join  me.' 
He  was  armed  with  a  gun ;  he  fired ' 

The  marquis  paused,  and  Blanche  summoned  suffi- 
cient courage  to  approach  him.  For  more  than  a  min- 
ute she  fastened  upon  him  that  cold  and  persistent  look 
that  is  said  to  exercise  such  power  over  those  who  have 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    427 

lost  their  reason;  then,  shaking  him  energetically  by 
the  arm,  she  said,  almost  roughly : 

"  Control  yourself,  father.  You  are  the  victim  of 
an  hallucination.  It  is  impossible  that  you  have  seen 
the  man  of  whom  you  speak." 

Who  it  was  that  M.  de  Courtornieu  supposed  he  had 
seen,  Blanche  knew  only  too  well ;  but  she  dared  not, 
could  not,  utter  the  name. 

But  the  marquis  had  resumed  his  incoherent  narra- 
tive. 

"Was  I  dreaming?"  he  continued.  "No,  it  was 
certainly  Lacheneur  who  confronted  me.  I  am  sure 
of  it,  and  the  proof  is,  that  he  reminded  me  of  a  cir- 
cumstance which  occurred  in  my  youth,  and  which 
was  known  only  to  him  and  me.  It  happened  during 
the  Reign  of  Terror.  He  was  all-powerful  in  Mon- 
taignac  ;  and  I  was  accused  of  being  in  correspondence 
with  the  emigres.  My  property  had  been  confiscated ; 
and  every  moment  I  was  expecting  to  feel  the  hand  of 
the  executioner  upon  my  shoulder,  when  Lacheneur 
took  me  into  his  house.  He  concealed  me ;  he  furnished 
me  with  a  passport;  he  saved  my  money,  and  he 
saved  my  head — I  sentenced  him  to  death.  That  is 
the  reason  why  I  have  seen  him  again.  I  must  rejoin 
him  ;  he  told  me  so — I  am  a  dying  man !  " 

He  fell  back  upon  his  pillows,  pulled  the  sheet  up 
over  his  face,  and,  lying  there,  rigid  and  motionless,  one 
might  readily  have  supposed  it  was  a  corpse,  whose 
outlines  could  be  vaguely  discerned  through  the  bed- 
coverings. 

Mute  with  horror,  the  servants  exchanged  frightened 
glances. 

Such  baseness  and  ingratitude  amazed  them.  It 
seemed  incomprehensible  to  them,  under  such  circum- 


428         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

stances,  that  the  marquis  had  not  pardoned  Lache- 
neur. 

Mme.  Blanche  alone  retained  her  presence  of 
mind.  Turning  to  her  father's  valet,  she  said : 

"  It  is  not  possible  that  anyone  has  attempted  to  in- 
jure my  father?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mademoiselle,  a  little  more 
and  he  would  have  been  killed." 

"  How  do  you  know  this  ?  " 

"  In  undressing  the  marquis  I  noticed  that  he  had 
received  a  wound  in  the  head.  I  also  examined  his 
hat,  and  in  it  I  found  three  holes,  which  could  only 
have  been  made  by  bullets." 

The  worthy  valet  de.  chambre  was  certainly  more 
agitated  than  the  daughter. 

"  Then  someone  must  have  attempted  to  assassinate 
my  father,"  she  murmured,  "  and  this  attack  of  delir- 
ium has  been  brought  on  by  fright.  How  can  we  find 
out  who  the  would-be  murderer  was  ?  " 

The  servant  shook  his  head. 

"  I  suspect  that  old  poacher,  who  is  always  prowling 
around,  is  the  guilty  man — Chupin." 

"  No,  it  could  not  have  been  he." 

"  Ah !  I  am  almost  sure  of  it.  There  is  no  one  else 
in  the  neighborhood  capable  of  such  an  evil  deed." 

Mme.  Blanche  could  not  give  her  reasons  for  de- 
claring Chupin  innocent.  Nothing  in  the  world  would 
have  induced  her  to  admit  that  she  had  met  him, 
talked  with  him  for  more  than  half  an  hour,  and  just 
parted  from  him. 

She  was  silent.  In  a  few  moments  the  physician 
arrived. 

He  removed  the  covering  from  M.  de  Courtornieu's 
face — he  was  almost  compelled  to  use  force  to  do  it — 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    429 

examined  the  patient  with  evident  anxiety,  then  or- 
dered mustard  plasters,  applications  of  ice  to  the  head, 
leeches,  and  a  potion,  for  which  a  servant  was  to  gal- 
lop to  Montaignac  at  once.  All  was  bustle  and  con- 
fusion. 

When  the  physician  left  the  sick-room,  Mme. 
Blanche  followed  him. 

"  Well,  Doctor,"  she  said,  with  a  questioning  look. 

With  considerable  hesitation,  he  replied: 

"  People  sometimes  recover  from  such  attacks." 

It  really  mattered  little  to  Blanche  whether  her  father 
recovered  or  died,  but  she  felt  that  an  opportunity  to 
recover  her  lost  prestige  was  now  afforded  her.  If  she 
desired  to  turn  public  opinion  against  Martial,  she 
must  improvise  for  herself  an  entirely  different  repu- 
tation. If  she  could  erect  a  pedestal  upon  which  she 
could  pose  as  a  patient  victim,  her  satisfaction  would 
be  intense.  Such  an  occasion  now  offered  itself,  and 
she  seized  it  at  once. 

Never  did  a  devoted  daughter  lavish  more  touching 
and  delicate  attentions  upon  a  sick  father.  It  was  im- 
possible to  induce  her  to  leave  his  bedside  for  a  mo- 
ment. It  was  only  with  great  difficulty  that  they  could 
persuade  her  to  sleep  for  a  couple  of  hours,  in  an  arm- 
chair in  the  sick-room. 

But  while  she  was  playing  the  role  of  Sister  of 
Charity,  which  she  had  imposed  upon  herself,  her 
thoughts  followed  Chupin.  What  was  he  doing  in 
Montaignac?  Was  he  watching  Martial  as  he  had 
promised?  How  slow  the  day  appointed  for  the  meet- 
ing was  in  coming ! 

It  came  at  last,  however,  and  after  intrusting  her 
father  to  the  care  of  Aunt  Medea,  Blanche  made  her 
escape. 


430        THE   HONOR   OF   THE    NAME 

The  old  poacher  was  awaiting  her  at  the  appointed 
place. 

"  Speak !  "  said  Mme.  Blanche. 

"  I  would  do  so  willingly,  only  I  have  nothing  to 
tell  you." 

"  What !  you  have  not  watched  the  marquis  ?  " 

"  Your  husband  ?  Excuse  me,  I  have  followed  him 
like  his  own  shadow.  But  what  would  you  have  me  say 
to  you ;  since  the  duke  left  for  Paris,  your  husband  has 
charge  of  everything.  Ah !  you  would  not  recognize 
him  !  He  is  always  busy  now.  He  is  up  at  cock-crow ; 
and  he  goes  to  bed  with  the  chickens.  He  writes  letters 
all  the  morning.  In  the  afternoon  he  receives  all  who 
call  upon  him.  The  retired  officers  are  hand  and  glove 
with  him.  He  has  reinstated  five  or  six  of  them,  and 
he  has  granted  pensions  to  two  others.  He  seldom 
goes  out,  and  never  in  the  evening." 

He  paused  and  for  more  than  a  minute  Blanche  was 
silent.  She  was  confused  and  agitated  by  the  question 
that  rose  to  her  lips.  What  humiliation  !  But  she  con- 
quered her  embarrassment,  and  turning  away  her  head 
to  hide  her  crimson  face,  she  said : 

"  But  he  certainly  has  a  mistress !  " 

Chupin  burst  into  a  noisy  laugh. 

"  Well,  we  have  come  to  it  at  last,"  he  said,  with 
an  audacious  familiarity  that  made  Blanche  shudder. 
"  You  mean  that  scoundrel  Lacheneur's  daughter,  do 
you  not  ?  that  stuck-up  minx,  Marie-Anne  ?  " 

Blanche  felt  that  denial  was  useless. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered ;  "  it  is  Marie-Anne  that  I 
mean." 

"  Ah,  well !  she  has  been  neither  seen  nor  heard  from. 
She  must  have  fled  with  another  of  her  lovers,  Maurice 
d'Escorval." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   431 

"  You  are  mistaken." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all !  Of  all  the  Lacheneurs  only  Jean  re- 
mains, and  he  lives  like  the  vagabond  that  he  is,  by 
poaching  and  stealing.  Day  and  night  he  rambles 
through  the  woods  with  his  gun  on  his  shoulder.  He 
is  frightful  to  look  upon,  a  perfect  skeleton,  and  his 
eyes  glitter  like  live  coals.  If  he  ever  meets  me,  my 
account  will  be  settled  then  and  there." 

Blanche  turned  pale.  It  was  Jean  Lacheneur  who 
had  fired  at  the  marquis  then.  She  did  not  doubt  it  in 
the  least. 

"  Very  well !  "  said  she,  "  I,  myself,  am  sure  that 
Marie- Anne  is  in  the  neighborhood,  concealed  in  Mon- 
taignac,  probably.  I  must  know.  Endeavor  to  dis- 
cover her  retreat  before  Monday,  when  I  will  meet  you 
here  again." 

"  Twill  try,"  Chupin  answered. 

He  did  indeed  try ;  he  exerted  all  his  energy  and  cun- 
ning, but  in  vain.  He  was  fettered  by  the  precautions 
which  he  took  against  Balstain  and  against  Jean  La- 
cheneur. On  the  other  hand,  no  one  in  the  neighbor- 
hood would  have  consented  to  give  him  the  least  in- 
formation. 

"  Still  no  news ! "  he  said  to  Mme.  Blanche  at 
each  interview. 

But  she  would  not  yield.  Jealousy  will  not  yield 
even  to  evidence. 

Blanche  had  declared  that  Marie- Anne  had  taken  her 
husband  from  her,  that  Martial  and  Marie- Anne  loved 
each  other,  hence  it  must  be  so,  all  proofs  to  the  con- 
trary notwithstanding. 

But  one  morning  she  found  her  spy  jubilant. 

"  Good  news !  "  he  cried,  as  soon  as  he  saw  her ; 
"  we  have  caught  the  minx  at  last." 


432         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 


CHAPTER    XLIII 

It  was  the  second  day  after  Marie-Anne's  installa- 
tion at  the  Borderie. 

That  event  was  the  general  topic  of  conversation ; 
and  Chanlouineau's  will  was  the  subject  of  countless 
comments. 

"  Here  is  Monsieur  Lacheneur's  daughter  with  an 
income  of  more  than  two  thousand  francs,  without 
counting  the  house,"  said  the  old  people,  gravely. 

"  An  honest  girl  would  have  had  no  such  luck  as 
that !  "  muttered  the  unattractive  maidens  who  had  not 
been  fortunate  enough  to  secure  husbands. 

This  was  the  great  news  which  Chupin  brought  to 
Mme.  Blanche. 

She  listened  to  it,  trembling  with  anger,  her  hands 
so  convulsively  clinched  that  the  nails  penetrated  the 
flesh. 

"  What  audacity !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  What  impu- 
dence!" 

The  old  poacher  seemed  to  be  of  the  same  opinion. 

"  If  each  of  her  lovers  gives  her  as  much  she  will  be 
richer  than  a  queen.  She  will  have  enough  to  buy  both 
Sairmeuse  and  Courtornieu,  if  she  choose,"  he  re- 
marked, maliciously. 

If  he  had  desired  to  augment  the  rage  of  Mme. 
Blanche,  he  had  good  reason  to  be  satisfied. 

"And  this  is  the  woman  who  has  alienated  Martial's 
heart  from  me !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  It  is  for  this  mis- 
erable wretch  that  he  abandons  me !  " 

The  unworthiness  of  the  unfortunate  girl  whom  she 
regarded  as  her  rival,  incensed  her  to  such  a  degree  that 
she  entirely  forgot  Chupin's  presence.  She  made  no 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    433 

attempt  to  restrain  herself  or  to  hide  the  secret  of  her 
sufferings. 

"  Are  you  sure  that  what  you  tell  me  is  true  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  As  sure  as  that  you  stand  there." 

"  Who  told  you  all  this  ?  " 

"  No  one — I  have  eyes.  I  went  to  the  Borderie  yes- 
terday to  see  for  myself,  and  all  the  shutters  were  open. 
Marie- Anne  was  leaning  out  of  a  window.  She  does 
not  even  wear  mourning,  the  heartless  hussy !  " 

Poor  Marie-Anne,  indeed,  had  no  dress  but  the  one 
which  Mme.  d'Escorval  had  given  her  on  the  night 
of  the  insurrection,  when  she  laid  aside  her  masculine 
habiliments. 

Chupin  wished  to  irritate  Mme.  Blanche  still  more 
by  other  malicious  remarks,  but  she  checked  him  by 
a  gesture. 

"  So  you  know  the  way  to  the  Borderie  ?  "  she  in- 
quired. 

"  Perfectly." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"  Opposite  the  mills  of  the  Giselle,  near  the  river, 
about  a  league  and  a  half  from  here." 

"  That  is  true.  I  remember  now.  Were  you  ever  in 
the  house  ?  " 

"  More  than  a  hundred  times  while  Chanlouineau 
was  living." 

"  Explain  the  topography  of  the  dwelling !  " 

Chupin's  eyes  dilated  to  their  widest  extent. 

"  What  do  you  wish  ?  "  he  asked,  not  understanding 
in  the  least  what  was  required  of  him. 

"  I  mean,  explain  how  the  house  is  constructed." 

"  Ah !  now  I  understand.  The  house  is  built  upon 
an  open  space  a  little  distance  from  the  road.  Before 
28 


434         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

it  is  a  small  garden,  and  behind  it  an  orchard  enclosed 
by  a  hedge.  Back  of  the  orchard,  to  the  right,  are  the 
vineyards ;  but  on  the  left  side  is  a  small  grove  that 
shades  a  spring. 

He  paused  suddenly,  and  with  a  knowing  wink,  in- 
quired : 

"  But  what  use  do  you  expect  to  make  of  all  this  in- 
formation ?  " 

"  What  does  that  matter  to  you  ?  How  is  the  in- 
terior arranged  ?  " 

"  There  are  three  large  square  rooms  on  the  ground 
floor,  besides  the  kitchen  and  a  small  dark  room." 

"  Now,  what  is  on  the  floor  above  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  been  up  there." 

"  How  are  the  rooms  furnished  which  you  have  vis- 
ited?" 

"  Like  those  in  any  peasant's  house." 

Certainly  no  one  was  aware  of  the  existence  of  the 
luxurious  apartment  which  Chanlouineau  had  intended 
for  Marie-Anne.  He  had  never  spoken  of  it,  and  had 
even  taken  the  greatest  precautions  to  prevent  any- 
one from  seeing  him  transport  the  furniture. 

"  How  many  doors  are  there  ?  "  inquired  Blanche. 

"  Three ;  one  opening  into  the  garden,  another  into 
the  orchard,  another  communicating  with  the  stables. 
The  staircase  leading  to  the  floor  above  is  in  the  mid- 
dle room." 

"  And  is  Marie- Anne  alone  at  the  Borderie  ?  " 

"  Entirely  alone  at  present ;  but  I  suppose  it  will  not 
be  long  before  her  brigand  of  a  brother  joins  her." 

Mme.  Blanche  fell  into  a  revery  so  deep  and  so 
prolonged  that  Chupin  at  last  became  impatient. 

He  ventured  to  touch  her  upon  the  arm,  and,  in  a 
wily  voice,  he  said : 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    435 

"  Well,  what  shall  we  decide?  " 

Blanche  shuddered  like  a  wounded  man  on  hearing 
the  terrible  click  of  the  surgeon's  instruments. 

"  My  mind  is  not  yet  made  up,"  she  replied.  "  I 
must  reflect — I  will  see." 

And  remarking  the  old  poacher's  discontented  face, 
she  said,  vehemently : 

"  I  will  do  nothing  lightly.  Do  not  lose  sight  of 
Martial.  If  he  goes  to  the  Bprderie,  and  he  will  go 
there,  I  must  be  informed  of  it.  If  he  writes,  and  he 
will  write,  try  to  procure  one  of  his  letters.  I  must  see 
you  every  other  day.  Do  not  rest !  Strive  to  deserve 
the  good  place  I  am  reserving  for  you  at  Courtornieu. 
Go!" 

fie  departed  without  a  word,  but  also  without  at- 
tempting to  conceal  his  disappointment  and  chagrin. 

"  It  serves  you  right  for  listening  to  a  silly,  affected 
woman,"  he  growled.  "  She  fills  the  air  with  her  rav- 
ings ;  she  wishes  to  kill  everybody,  to  burn  and  destroy 
everything.  She  only  asks  for  an  opportunity.  The 
occasion  presents  itself,  and  her  heart  fails  her.  She 
draws  back— she  is  afraid !  " 

Chupin  did  Mme.  Blanche  great  injustice.  The 
movement  of  horror  which  he  had  observed  was  the 
instinctive  revolt  of  the  flesh,  and  not  a  faltering  of 
her  inflexible  will. 

Her  reflections  were  not  of  a  nature  to  appease  her 
rancor. 

Whatever  Chupin  and  all  Sairmeuse  might  say  to 
the  contrary,  Blanche  regarded  this  story  of  Marie- 
Anne's  travels  as  a  ridiculous  fable.  In  her  opinion, 
Marie-Anne  had  simply  emerged  from  the  retreat 
where  Martial  had  deemed  it  prudent  to  conceal  her. 

But  why  this  sudden  reappearance  ?    The  vindictive 


436         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

woman  was  ready  to  swear  that  it  was  out  of  mere  bra- 
vado, and  intended  only  as  an  insult  to  her. 

"  And  I  will  have  my  revenge,"  she  thought.  "  I 
would  tear  my  heart  out  if  it  were  capable  of  cowardly 
weakness'under  such  provocation  !  " 

The  voice  of  conscience  was  unheard  in  this  tumult 
of  passion.  Her  sufferings,  and  Jean  Lacheneur's  at- 
tempt upon  her  father's  life  seemed  to  justify  the  most 
extreme  measures. 

She  had  plenty  of  time  now  to  brood  over  her 
wrongs,  and  to  concoct  schemes  of  vengeance.  Her 
father  no  longer  required  her  care.  He  had  passed 
from  the  frenzied  ravings  of  insanity  and  delirium  to 
the  stupor  of  idiocy. 

The  physician  declared  his  patient  cured. 

Cured !  The  body  was  cured,  perhaps,  but  reason 
had  succumbed.  All  traces  of  intelligence  had  disap- 
peared from  this  once  mobile  face,  so  ready  to  assume 
any  expression  which  the  most  consummate  hypocrisy 
required. 

There  was  no  longer  a  sparkle  in  the  eye  which  had 
formerly  gleamed  with  cunning,  and  the  lower  lip  hung 
with  a  terrible  expression  of  stupidity. 

And  there  was  no  hope  of  any  improvement. 

A  single  passion,  the  table,  took  the  place  of  all  the 
passions  which  had  formerly  swayed  the  life  of  this 
ambitious  man. 

The  marquis,  who  had  always  been  temperate  in  his 
habits,  now  ate  and  drank  with  the  most  disgusting 
voracity,  and  he  was  becoming  immensely  corpulent. 
A  soulless  body,  he  wandered  about  the  chateau  and  its 
surroundings  without  projects,  without  aim.  Self- 
consciousness,  all  thought  of  dignity,  knowledge  of 
good  and  evil,  memory — he  had  lost  all  these.  Even 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    437 

the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  the  last  which  dies 
within  us,  had  departed,  and  he  had  to  be  watched  like 
a  child. 

Often,  as  the  marquis  roamed  about  the  large  gar- 
dens, his  daughter  regarded  him  from  her  window  with 
a  strange  terror  in  her  heart. 

But  this  warning  of  Providence  only  increased  her 
desire  for  revenge. 

"  Who  would  not  prefer  death  to  such  a  misfort- 
une ?  "  she  murmured.  "  Ah !  Jean  Lacheneur's  re- 
venge is  far  more  terrible  than  it  would  have  been  had 
his  bullet  pierced  my  father's  heart.  It  is  a  revenge 
like  this  that  I  desire.  It  is  due  me ;  I  will  have  it !  " 

She  saw  Chupin  every  two  or  three  days ;  sometimes 
going  to  the  place  of  meeting  alone,  sometimes  ac- 
companied by  Aunt  Medea. 

The  old  poacher  came  punctually,  although  he  was 
beginning  to  tire  of  his  task. 

"  I  am  risking  a  great  deal,"  he  growled.  "  I  sup- 
posed that  Jean  Lacheneur  would  go  and  live  at  the 
Borderie  with  his  sister.  Then,  I  should  be  safe.  But 
no;  the  brigand  continues  to  prowl  around  with  his 
gun  under  his  arm,  and  to  sleep  in  the  woods  at  night. 
What  game  is  he  hunting?  Father  Chupin,  of  course. 
On  the  other  hand,  I  know  that  my  rascally  innkeeper 
over  there  has  abandoned  his  inn  and  mysteriously  dis- 
appeared. Where  is  he  ?  Hidden  behind  one  of  these 
trees,  perhaps,  deciding  in  which  portion  of  my  body 
he  shall  plunge  his  knife." 

What  irritated  the  old  poacher  most  of  all  was,  that 
after  two  months  of  surveillance,  he  had  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that,  whatever  might  have  been  the  rela- 
tions existing  between  Martial  and  Marie-Anne  in  the 
past,  all  was  now  over  between  them. 


438         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

But  Blanche  would  not  admit  this. 

"  Say  that  they  are  more  cunning  than  you,  Father 
Chupin." 

"  Cunning — and  how  ?  Since  I  have  been  watching 
the  marquis,  he  has  not  once  passed  outside  the  forti- 
fications. On  the  other  hand,  the  postman  at  Sair- 
meuse,  who  has  been  adroitly  questioned  by  my  wife, 
declares  that  he  has  not  taken  a  single  letter  to  the 
Borderie." 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  hope  of  a  safe  and  pleasant 
retreat  at  Courtornieu,  Chupin  would  have  abandoned 
his  task ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  tempting  rewards  that 
were  promised  him,  he  had  relaxed  his  surveillance. 

If  he  still  came  to  the  rendezvous,  it  was  only  be- 
cause he  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  claiming  some 
money  for  his  expenses  each  time. 

And  when  Mme.  Blanche  demanded  an  account  of 
everything  that  Martial  had  done,  he  told  her  anything 
that  came  into  his  head. 

Mme.  Blanche  soon  discovered  this.  One  day, 
early  in  September,  she  interrupted  him  as  he  began 
the  same  old  story,  and,  looking  him  steadfastly  in  the 
eye,  she  said : 

"  Either  you  are  betraying  me,  or  you  are  a  fool. 
Yesterday  Martial  and  Marie-Anne  spent  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  together  at  the  Croix  d'Arcy." 


CHAPTER   XLIV 

The  old  physician  at  Vigano,  who  had  come  to 
Marie-Anne's  aid,  was  an  honorable  man.  His  intel- 
lect was  of  a  superior  order,  and  his  heart  was  equal  to 
his  intelligence.  He  knew  life ;  he  had  loved  and  suf- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    439 

fered,  and  he  possessed  two  sublime  virtues — forbear- 
ance and  charity. 

It  was  easy  for  such  a  man  to  read  Marie-Anne's 
character ;  and  while  he  was  at  the  Borderie  he  en- 
deavored in  every  possible  way  to  reassure  her,  and  to 
restore  the  self-respect  of  the  unfortunate  girl  who  had 
confided  in  him. 

Had  he  succeeded  ?     He  certainly  hoped  so. 

But  when  he  departed  and  Marie-Anne  was  again 
left  in  solitude,  she  could  not  overcome  the  feeling  of 
despondency  that  stole  over  her. 

Many,  in  her  situation,  would  have  regained  their 
serenity  of  mind,  and  even  rejoiced.  Had  she  not  suc- 
ceeded in  concealing  her  fault  ?  Who  suspected  it,  ex- 
cept, perhaps,  the  abbe. 

Hence,  Marie- Anne  had  nothing  to  fear,  and  every- 
thing to  hope. 

But  this  conviction  did  not  appease  her  sorrow. 
Hers  was  one  of  those  pure  and  proud  natures  that  are 
more  sensitive  to  the  whisperings  of  conscience  than 
to  the  clamors  of  the  world. 

She  had  been  accused  of  having  three  lovers — Chan- 
louineau,  Martial,  and  Maurice.  The  calumny  had 
not  moved  her.  What  tortured  her  was  what  these 
people  did  not  know — the  truth. 

Nor  was  this  all.  The  sublime  instinct  of  maternity 
had  been  awakened  within  her.  When  she  saw  the 
physician  depart,  bearing  her  child,  she  felt  as  if  soul 
and  body  were  being  rent  asunder.  When  could  she 
hope  to  see  again  this  little  son  who  was  doubly  dear 
to  her  by  reason  of  the  very  sorrow  and  anguish  he  had 
cost  her?  The  tears  gushed  to  her  eyes  when  she 
thought  that  his  first  smile  would  not  be  for  her. 

Ah  !  had  it  not  been  for  her  promise  to  Maurice,  she 


440         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

would  unhesitatingly  have  braved  public  opinion,  and 
kept  her  precious  child. 

Her  brave  and  honest  nature  could  have  endured  any 
humiliation  far  better  than  the  continual  lie  she  was 
forced  to  live. 

But  she  had  promised;  Maurice  was  her  husband, 
and  reason  told  her  that  for  his  sake  she  must  pre- 
serve not  her  honor,  alas  !  but  the  semblance  of  honor. 

And  when  she  thought  of  her  brother,  her  blood 
froze  in  her  veins. 

Having  learned  that  Jean  was  roving  about  the  coun- 
try, she  sent  for  him  ;  but  it  was  not  without  much  per- 
suasion that  he  consented  to  come  to  the  Borderie. 

It  was  easy  to  explain  Chupin's  terror  when  one  saw 
Jean  Lacheneur.  His  clothing  was  literally  in  tatters, 
his  face  wore  an  expression  of  ferocious  despair,  and  a 
fierce  unextinguishable  hatred  burned  in  his  eyes. 

When  he  entered  the  cottage,  Marie-Anne  recoiled 
in  horror.  She  did  not  recognize  him  until  he  spoke. 

"  It  is  I,  sister,"  he  said,  gloomily. 

"  You — my  poor  Jean !  you !  " 

He  surveyed  himself  from  head  to  foot,  and  said, 
with  a  sneering  laugh : 

"  Really,  I  should  not  like  to  meet  myself  at  dusk  in 
the  forest." 

Marie-Anne  shuddered.  She  fancied  that  a  threat 
lurked  beneath  these  ironical  words,  beneath  this 
mockery  of  himself. 

"  What  a  life  yours  must  be,  my  poor  brother ! 
Why  did  you  not  come  sooner?  Now,  I  have  you 
here,  I  shall  not  let  you  go.  You  will  not  desert  me. 
I  need  protection  and  love  so  much.  You  will  remain 
with  me?  " 

"  It  is  impossible,  Marie-Anne." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    441 

"And  why?" 

A  fleeting  crimson  suffused  Jean  Lacheneur's  cheek ; 
he  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then : 

"  Because  I  have  a  right  to  dispose  of  my  own  life, 
but  not  of  yours,"  he  replied.  "  We  can  no  longer  be 
anything  to  each  other.  I  deny  you  to-day,  that  you 
may  be  able  to  deny  me  to-morrow.  Yes,  I  renounce 
you,  who  are  my  all — the  only  person  on  earth  whom 
I  love.  Your  most  cruel  enemies  have  not  calumni- 
ated you  more  foully  than  I " 

He  paused  an  instant,  then  he  added : 

"  I  have  said  openly,  before  numerous  witnesses, 
that  I  would  never  set  foot  in  a  house  that  had  been 
given  you  by  Chanlouineau." 

"  Jean  !  you,  my  brother !  said  that  ?  " 

"  I  said  it.  It  must  be  supposed  that  there  is  a 
deadly  feud  between  us.  This  must  be,  in  order  that 
neither  you  nor  Maurice  d'Escorval  can  be  accused  of 
complicity  in  any  deed  of  mine." 

Marie- Anne  stood  as  if  petrified. 

"  He  is  mad !  "  she  murmured. 

"  Do  I  really  have  that  appearance  ?  " 

She  shook  off  the  stupor  that  paralyzed  her,  and 
seizing  her  brother's  hands : 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  do  ? "  she  exclaimed. 
"  What  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  Tell  me ;  I  will  know." 

"  Nothing!   let  me  alone." 

"Jean!" 

"  Let  me  alone,"  he  said,  roughly,  disengaging  him- 
self. 

A  horrible  presentiment  crossed  Marie- Anne's  mind. 

She  stepped  back,  and  solemnly,  entreatingly,  she 
said :  ^. 

"  Take  care,  take  care,  my  brother.     It  is  not  well 


442        THE    HONOR    OF   THE   NAME 

to  tamper  with  these  matters.  Leave  to  God's  justice 
the  task  of  punishing  those  who  have  wronged  us." 

But  nothing  could  move  Jean  Lacheneur,  or  divert 
him  from  his  purpose.  He  uttered  a  hoarse,  discord- 
ant laugh,  then  striking  his  gun  heavily  with  his  hand, 
he  exclaimed : 

"  Here  is  justice !  " 

Appalled  and  distressed  beyond  measure,  Marie- 
Anne  sank  into  a  chair.  She  discerned  in  her 
brother's  mind  the  same  fixed,  fatal  idea  which  had 
lured  her  father  on  to  destruction — the  idea  for  which 
he  had  sacrificed  all — family,  friends,  fortune,  the  pres- 
ent and  the  future — even  his  daughter's  honor — the 
idea  which  had  caused  so  much  blood  to  flow,  which 
had  cost  the  life  of  so  many  innocent  men,  and  which 
had  finally  conducted  him  to  the  scaffold. 

"  Jean,"  she  murmured,  "  remember  our  father." 

The  young  man's  face  became  livid ;  his  hands 
clinched  involuntarily,  but  he  controlled  his  anger. 

Advancing  toward  his  sister,  in  a  cold,  quiet  tone 
that  added  a  frightful  violence  to  his  threats,  he  said : 

"  It  is  because  I  remember  my  father  that  justice 
shall  be  done.  Ah  !  these  miserable  nobles  would  not 
display  such  audacity  if  all  sons  had  my  resolution.  A 
scoundrel  would  hesitate  before  attacking  a  good  man 
if  he  was  obliged  to  say  to  himself : '  I  cannot  strike  this 
honest  man,  for  though  he  die,  his  children  will  surely 
call  me  to  account.  Their  fury  will  fall  on  me  and 
mine ;  they  will  pursue  us  sleeping  and  waking,  pursue 
us  without  ceasing,  everywhere,  and  pitilessly.  Their 
hatred  always  on  the  alert,  will  accompany  us  and  sur- 
round us.  It  will  be  an  implacable,  merciless  warfare. 
I  shall  never  venture  forth  without  fearing  a  bullet ;  I 
shall  never  lift  food  to  my  lips  without  dread  of  poi- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    443 

son.  And  until  we  have  succumbed,  they  will  prowl 
about  our  house,  trying  to  slip  in  through  tiniest  open- 
ing, death,  dishonor,  ruin,  infamy,  and  misery ! ' ' 

He  paused  with  a  nervous  laugh,  and  then,  still  more 
slowly,  he  added : 

"  That  is  what  the  Sairmeuse  and  Courtornieu  have 
to  expect  from  me." 

It  was  impossible  to  mistake  the  meaning  of  Jean 
Lacheneur's  words.  His  threats  were  not  the  wild 
ravings  of  anger.  His  quiet  manner,  his  icy  tones, 
his  automatic  gestures  betrayed  one  of  those  cold  rages 
which  endure  so  long  as  the  man  lives. 

He  took  good  care  to  make  himself  understood,  for 
between  his  teeth  he  added : 

"  Undoubtedly,  these  people  are  very  high,  and  I 
am  very  low;  but  when  a  tiny  worm  fastens  itself  to 
the  roots  of  a  giant  oak,  that  tree  is  doomed." 

Marie-Anne  knew  all  too  well  the  uselessness  of 
prayers  and  entreaties. 

And  yet  she  could  not,  she  must  not  allow  her 
brother  to  depart  in  this  mood. 

She  fell  upon  her  knees,  and  with  clasped  hands  and 
supplicating  voice : 

"  Jean,"  said  she,  "  I  implore  you  to  renounce  these 
projects.  In  the  name  of  our  mother,  return  to  your 
better  self.  These  are  crimes  which  you  are  meditat- 
ing!" 

With  a  glance  of  scorn  and  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
he  replied : 

"  Have  done  with  this.  I  was  wrong  to  confide  my 
hopes  to  you.  Do  not  make  me  regret  that  I  came 
here." 

Then  the  sister  tried  another  plan.  She  rose,  forced 
her  lips  to  smile,  and  as  if  nothing  unpleasant  had 


444        THE   HONOR   OF   THE    NAME 

passed  between  them,  she  begged  Jean  to  remain  with 
her  that  evening,  at  least,  and  share  her  frugal  supper. 

"  Remain,"  she  entreated ;  "  that  is  not  much  to  do — 
and  it  will  make  me  so  happy.  And  since  it  will  be 
the  last  time  we  shall  see  each  other  for  years,  grant 
me  a  few  hours.  It  is  so  long  since  we  have  met.  I 
have  suffered  so  much.  I  have  so  many  things  to  tell 
you !  Jean,  my  dear  brother,  can  it  be  that  you  love 
me  no  longer?  " 

One  must  have  been  bronze  to  remain  insensible  to 
such  prayers.  Jean  Lacheneur's  heart  swelled  almost 
to  bursting ;  his  stern  features  relaxed,  and  a  tear  trem- 
bled in  his  eye. 

Marie-Anne  saw  that  tear.  She  thought  she  had 
conquered,  and  clapping  her  hands  in  delight,  she  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Ah !  you  will  remain  !  you  will  remain  !  " 

No.  Jean  had  already  mastered  his  momentary 
weakness,  though  not  without  a  terrible  effort ;  and  in 
a  harsh  voice : 

"  Impossible  !   impossible !  "  he  repeated. 

Then,  as  his  sister  clung  to  him  imploringly,  he  took 
her  in  his  arms  and  pressed  her  to  his  heart. 

"  Poor  sister — poor  Marie-Anne — you  will  never 
know  what  it  costs  me  to  refuse  you,  to  separate  my- 
self from  you.  But  this  must  be.  In  even  coming 
here  I  have  been  guilty  of  an  imprudent  act.  You  do 
not  understand  to  what  perils  you  will  be  exposed  if 
people  suspect  any  bond  between  us.  I  trust  you 
and  Maurice  may  lead  a  calm  and  happy  life.  It  would 
be  a  crime  for  me  to  mix  you  up  with  my  wild  schemes. 
Think  of  me  sometimes,  but  do  not  try  to  see  me,  or 
even  to  learn  what  has  become  of  me.  A  man  like  me 
struggles,  triumphs,  or  perishes  alone." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    445 

He  kissed  Marie-Anne  passionately,  then  lifted  her, 
placed  her  in  a  chair,  and  freed  himself  from  her  detain- 
ing hands. 

"  Adieu !  "  he  cried ;  "  when  you  see  me  again,  our 
father  will  he  avenged  !  " 

She  sprang  up  to  rush  after  him  and  to  call  him  back 
— too  late ! 

He  had  fled. 

"  It  is  over,"  murmured  the  wretched  girl ;  "  my 
brother  is  lost.  Nothing  will  restrain  him  now." 

A  vague,  inexplicable,  but  horrible  fear,  contracted 
her  heart.  She  felt  that  she  was  being  slowly  but 
surely  drawn  into  a  whirlpool  of  passion,  rancor,  ven- 
geance, and  crime,  and  a  voice  whispered  that  she 
would  be  crushed. 

But  other  thoughts  soon  replaced  these  gloomy  pre- 
sentiments. 

One  evening,  while  she  was  preparing  her  little  table, 
she  heard  a  rustling  sound  at  the  door.  She  turned 
and  looked ;  someone  had  slipped  a  letter  under  the 
door. 

Courageously,  and  without  an  instant's  hesitation, 
she  sprang  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  No  one  was 
there ! 

The  night  was  dark,  and  she  could  distinguish  noth- 
ing in  the  gloom  without.  She  listened ;  not  a  sound 
broke  the  stillness. 

Agitated  and  trembling  she  picked  up  the  letter,  ap- 
proached the  light,  and  looked  at  the  address. 

"  The  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse !  "  she  exclaimed,  in 
amazement. 

She  recognized  Martial's  handwriting.  So  he  had 
written  to  her !  He  had  dared  to  write  to  her ! 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  burn  the  letter ;  she  held  it 


446        THE   HONOR   OF   THE    NAME 

to  the  flame,  then  the  thought  of  her  friends  concealed 
at  Father  Poignot's  farm  made  her  withdraw  it. 
"  For  their  sake,"  she  thought,  "  I  must  read  it." 
She  broke  the  seal  with  the  arms  of  the  De  Sairmeuse 
family  inscribed  upon  it,  and  read :  • 

"  MY  DEAR  MARIE-ANNE — Perhaps  you  have  sus- 
pected who  it  is  that  has  given  an  entirely  new,  and 
certainly  surprising,  direction  to  events. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  also  understood  the  motives 
that  guided  him.  In  that  case  I  am  amply  repaid  for 
my  efforts,  for  you  cannot  refuse  me  your  friendship 
and  your  esteem. 

"  But  my  work  of  reparation  is  not  yet  accomplished. 
I  have  prepared  everything  for  a  revision  of  the  judg- 
ment that  condemned  Baron  d'Escorval  to  death,  or  for 
procuring  a  pardon. 

"  You  must  know  where  the  baron  is  concealed. 
Acquaint  him  with  my  plans  and  ascertain  whether  he 
prefers  a  revision  of  judgment,  or  a  simple  pardon. 

"  If  he  desires  a  new  trial,  I  will  give  him  a  letter  of 
license  from  the  King. 

"  I  await  your  reply  before  acting. 

"  MARTIAL  DE  SAIRMEUSE. " 

Marie-Anne's  head  whirled. 

This  was  the  second  time  that  Martial  had  astonished 
her  by  the  grandeur  of  his  passion. 

How  noble  the  two  men  who  had  loved  her  and 
whom  she  had  rejected,  had  proved  themselves  to  be. 

One,  Chanlouineau,  after  dying  for  her  sake,  pro- 
tected her  still. 

Martial  de  Sairmeuse  had  sacrificed  the  convictions 
of  his  life  and  the  prejudice  of  his  race  for  her  sake; 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    447 

and,  with  a  noble  recklessness,  hazarded  for  her  the 
political  fortunes  of  his  house. 

And  yet  the  man  whom  she  had  chosen,  the  father 
of  her  child,  Maurice  d'Escorval,  had  not  given  a  sign 
of  life  since  he  quitted  her,  five  months  before. 

But  suddenly,  and  without  reason,  Marie-Anne 
passed  from  the  most  profound  admiration  to  the  deep- 
est distrust. 

"  What  if  Martial's  offer  is  only  a  trap?  "  This  was 
the  suspicion  that  darted  through  her  mind. 

"  Ah !  "  she  thought,  "  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse 
would  be  a  hero  if  he  were  sincere !  " 

And  she  did  not  wish  him  to  be  a  hero. 

The  result  of  these  suspicions  was  that  she  hesitated 
five  days  before  repairing  to  the  rendezvous  where 
Father  Poignot  usually  awaited  her. 

When  she  did  go,  she  found,  not  the  worthy  farmer, 
but  Abbe  Midon,  who  had  been  greatly  alarmed  by 
her  long  absence. 

It  was  night,  but  Marie-Anne,  fortunately,  knew 
Martial's  letter  by  heart. 

The  abbe  made  her  repeat  it  twice,  the  second  time 
very  slowly,  and  when  she  had  concluded : 

"  This  young  man,"  said  the  priest,  "  has  the  voice 
and  the  prejudices  of  his  rank  and  of  his  education; 
but  his  heart  is  noble  and  generous." 

And  when  Marie- Anne  disclosed  her  suspicions : 

"  You  are  wrong,  my  child,"  said  he :  "  the  Marquis 
is  certainly  sincere.  It  would  be  wrong  not  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  his  generosity.  Such,  at  least,  is  my  opin- 
ion. Intrust  this  letter  to  me.  I  will  consult  the 
baron,  and  to-morrow  I  will  tell  you  our  decision." 

The  abbe  was  awaiting  her  with  feverish  impatience 


448        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

on  the  same  spot,  when  she  rejoined  him  twenty-four 
hours  later. 

"  Monsieur  d'Escorval  agrees  with  me  that  we  must 
trust  ourselves  to  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse.  Only 
the  baron,  being  innocent,  cannot,  will  not,  accept  a 
pardon.  He  demands  a  revision  of  the  iniquitous 
judgment  which  condemned  him." 

Although  she  must  have  foreseen  this  determination, 
Marie-^-nne  seemed  stupefied. 

"  What !  "  said  she.  "  Monsieur  d'Escorval  will 
give  himself  up  to  his  enemies  ?  Does  not  the  Marquis 
de  Sairmeuse  promise  him  a  letter  of  license,  a  safe- 
conduct  from  the  King?" 

"  Yes." 

She  could  find  no  objection,  so  in  a  submissive  tone, 
she  said: 

"  In  this  case,  Monsieur,  I  must  ask  you  for  a  rough 
draft  of  the  letter  I  am  to  write  to  the  marquis." 

The  priest  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  he  felt  some  misgivings.  At  last,  summon- 
ing all  his  courage,  he  said : 

"  It  would  be  better  not  to  write." 

"  But " 

"  It  is  not  that  I  distrust  the  marquis,  not  by  any 
means,  but  a  letter  is  dangerous;  it  does  not  always 
reach  the  person  to  whom  it  is  addressed.  You  must 
see  Monsieur  de  Sairmeuse." 

Marie-Anne  recoiled  in  horror. 

"  Never !    never !  "    she  exclaimed. 

The  abbe  did  not  seem  surprised. 

"  I  understand  your  repugnance,  my  child,"  he  said, 
gently ;  "  your  reputation  has  suffered  greatly  through 
the  attentions  of  the  marquis." 

"  Oh  !   sir,  I  entreat  you." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    449 

"  But  one  should  not  hesitate,  my  child,  when  duty 
speaks.  You  owe  this  sacrifice  to  an  innocent  man 
who  has  been  ruined  through  your  father." 

He  explained  to  her  all  that  she  must  say,  and  did 
not  leave  her  until  she  had  promised  to  see  the  marquis 
in  person.  But  the  cause  of  her  repugnance  was  not 
what  the  abbe  supposed.  Her  reputation  !  Alas !  she 
knew  that  was  lost  forever.  No,  it  was  not  that. 

A  fortnight  before  she  would  not  have  been  disqui- 
eted by  the  prospect  of  this  interview.  Then,  though 
she  no  longer  hated  Martial,  he  was  perfectly  indifferent 
to  her,  while  now 

Perhaps  in  choosing  the  Croix  d'Arcy  for  the  place 
of  meeting,  she  hoped  that  this  spot,  haunted  by  so 
many  cruel  memories,  would  restore  her  former  aver- 
sion. 

On  pursuing  the  path  leading  to  the  place  of  rendez- 
vous, she  said  to  herself  that  Martial  would  undoubt- 
edly wound  her  by  the  tone  of  careless  gallantry  which 
was  habitual  to  him. 

But  in  this  she  was  mistaken.  Martial  was  greatly 
agitated,  but  he  did  not  utter  a  word  that  was  not  con- 
nected with  the  baron. 

It  was  only  when  the  conference  was  ended,  and  he 
had  consented  to  all  the  conditions,  that  he  said,  sadly : 

"  We  are  friends,  are  we  not  ?  " 

In  an  almost  inaudible  voice  she  answered : 

"  Yes." 

And  that  was  all.  He  remounted  his  horse  which 
had  been  held  by  a  servant,  and  departed  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Montaignac. 

Breathless,  with  cheeks  on  fire,  Marie-Anne  watched 
him  as  he  disappeared ;  and  then  her  inmost  heart  was 
revealed  as  by  a  lightning  flash. 
29 


450         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  M  on  Dieu!  wretch  that  I  am!"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Do  I  not  love  ?  is  it  possible  that  I  could  ever  love 
any  other  than  Maurice,  my  husband,  the  father  of  my 
child?" 

Her  voice  was  still  trembling  with  emotion  when  she 
recounted  the  details  of  the  interview  to  the  abbe.  But 
he  did  not  perceive  it.  He  was  thinking  only  of  the 
baron. 

"  I  was  sure  that  Martial  would  say  '  amen/  to  every- 
thing; I  was  so  certain  of  it  that  I  have  made  all  the 
arrangements  for  the  baron  to  leave  the  farm.  He  will 
await,  at  your  house,  a  safe-conduct  from  His  Majesty. 

"  The  close  air  and  the  heat  of  the  loft  are  retarding 
the  baron's  recovery,"  the  abbe  pursued,  "  so  be  pre- 
pared for  his  coming  to-morrow  evening.  One  of  the 
Poignot  boys  will  bring  over  all  our  baggage.  About 
eleven  o'clock  we  will  put  Monsieur  d'Escorval  in  a 
carriage ;  and  we  will  all  sup  together  at  the  Borderie." 

"  Heaven  comes  to  my  aid !  "  thought  Marie-Anne 
as  she  walked  homeward. 

She  thought  that  she  would  no  longer  be  alone,  that 
Mme.  d'Escorval  would  be  with  her  to  talk  to  her  of 
Maurice,  and  that  all  the  friends  who  would  surround 
her  would  aid  her  in  driving  away  the  thoughts  of  Mar- 
tial, which  haunted  her. 

So  the  next  day  she  was  more  cheerful  than  she  had 
been  for  months,  and  once,  while  putting  her  little 
house  in  order,  she  was  surprised  to  find  herself  sing- 
ing at  her  work. 

Eight  o'clock  was  sounding  when  she  heard  a  pecul- 
iar whistle. 

It  was  the  signal  of  the  younger  Poignot,  who  came 
bringing  an  arm-chair  for  the  sick  man,  the  abbe's  box 
of  medicine,  and  a  bag  of  books. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    451 

These  articles  Marie-Anne  deposited  in  the  room 
which  Chanlouineau  had  adorned  for  her,  and  which 
she  intended  for  the  baron.  After  arranging  them  to 
her  satisfaction  she  went  out  to  meet  young  Poignot, 
who  had  told  her  that  he  would  soon  return  with  other 
articles. 

The  night  was  very  dark,  and  Marie-Anne,  as  she 
hastened  on,  did  not  notice  two  motionless  figures  in 
the  shadow  of  a  clump  of  lilacs  in  her  little  garden. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

Detected  by  Mme.  Blanche  in  a  palpable  falsehood, 
Chupin  was  quite  crestfallen  for  a  moment. 

He  saw  the  pleasing  vision  of  a  retreat  at  Courtor- 
nieu  vanish ;  he  saw  himself  suddenly  deprived  of  fre- 
quent gifts  which  permitted  him  to  spare  his  hoarded 
treasure,  and  even  to  increase  it. 

But  he  soon  regained  his  assurance,  and  with  an  af- 
fectation of  frankness  he  said : 

"  I  may  be  stupid,  but  I  could  not  deceive  an  infant. 
Someone  mus.t  have  told  you  falsely." 

Mme.  Blanche  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  I  obtained  my  information  from  two  persons,  who 
were  ignorant  of  the  interest  it  would  possess  for  me." 

"  As  truly  as  the  sun  is  in  the  heavens  I  swear " 

"  Do  not  swear ;  simply  confess  that  you  have  been 
wanting  in  zeal." 

The  young  lady's  manner  betrayed  such  positive  cer- 
tainty that  Chupin  ceased  his  denials  and  changed  his 
tactics. 

With  the  most  abject  humility,  he  admitted  that  the 
evening  before  he  had  relaxed  his  surveillance ;  he  had 


452         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

been  very  busy ;  one  of  his  boys  had  injured  his  foot ; 
then  he  had  encountered  some  friends  who  persuaded 
him  to  enter  a  drinking-saloon,  where  he  had  taken 
more  than  usual,  so  that 

He  told  this  story  in  a  whining  tone,  and  every  mo- 
ment he  interrupted  himself  to  affirm  his  repentance 
and  to  cover  himself  with  reproaches. 

"  Old  drunkard !  "  he  said,  "  this  will  teach. you " 

But  these  protestations,  far  from  reassuring  Mme. 
Blanche,  made  her  still  more  suspicious. 

"  All  this  is  very  well,  Father  Chupin,"  she  said, 
dryly,  "  but  what  are  you  going  to  do  now  to  repair 
your  negligence  ?  " 

"  What  do  I  intend  to  do  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  feigning 
the  most  violent  anger.  "  Oh !  you  will  see.  I  will 
prove  that  no  one  can  deceive  me  with  impunity.  Near 
the  Borderie  is  a  small  grove.  I  shall  station  myself 
there ;  and  may  the  devil  seize  me  if  a  cat  enters  that 
house  unbeknown  to  me." 

Mme.  Blanche  drew  her  purse  from  her  pocket,  and 
taking  out  three  louis,  she  gave  them  to  Chupin,  say- 
ing: 

"  Take  these,  and  be  more  careful  in  future.  An- 
other blunder  like  this,  and  I  shall  be  compelled  to  ask 
the  aid  of  some  other  person." 

The  old  poacher  went  away,  whistling  quite  reas- 
sured ;  but  he  was  wrong.  The  lady's  generosity  was 
only  intended  to  allay  his  suspicions. 

And  why  should  she  not  suppose  he  had  betrayed 
her — this  miserable  wretch,  who  made  it  his  business 
to  betray  others?  What  reason  had  she  for  placing 
any  confidence  in  his  reports  ?  She  paid  him  !  Others, 
by  paying  him  more,  would  certainly  have  the  prefer- 
ence! 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    453 

But  how  could  she  ascertain  what  she  wished  to 
know  ?  Ah  !  she  saw  but  one  way — a  very  disagree- 
able, but  a  sure  way.  She,  herself,  would  play  the  spy. 

This  idea  took  such  possession  of  her  mind  that, 
after  dinner  was  concluded,  and  twilight  had  enveloped 
the  earth  in  a  mantle  of  gray,  she  summoned  Aunt 
Medea. 

"  Get  your  cloak,  quickly,  aunt,"  she  commanded. 
"  I  am  going  for  a  walk,  and  you  must  accompany 
me." 

Aunt  Medea  extended  her  hand  to  the  bell-rope,  but 
her  niece  stopped  her. 

"  You  will  dispense  with  the  services  of  your  maid," 
said  she.  "  I  do  not  wish  anyone  in  the  chateau  to 
know  that  we  have  gone  out." 

"  Are  we  going  alone  ?  " 

"  Alone." 

"  Alone,  and  on  foot,  at  night " 

"  I  am  in  a  hurry,  aunt,"  interrupted  Blanche,  "  and 
I  am  waiting  for  you." 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  Aunt  Medea  was  ready. 

The  marquis  had  just  been  put  to  bed,  the  servants 
were  at  dinner,  and  Blanche  and  Aunt  Medea  reached 
the  little  gate  leading  from  the  garden  into  the  open 
fields  without  being  observed. 

"  Good  heavens !  Where  are  we  going  ?  "  groaned 
Aunt  Medea. 

"  What  is  that  to  you  ?    Come !  " 

Mme.  Blanche  was  going  to  the  Borderie. 

She  could  have  followed  the  banks  of  the  Oiselle. 
but  she  preferred  to  cut  across  the  fields,  thinking  she 
would  be  less  likely  to  meet  someone. 

The  night  was  still,  but  very  dark,  and  the  progress 
of  the  two  women  was  often  retarded  by  hedges  and 


454         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

ditches.  Twice  Blanche  lost  her  way.  Again  and 
again,  Aunt  Medea  stumbled  over  the  rough  ground, 
and  bruised  herself  against  the  stones;  she  groaned, 
she  almost  wept,  but  her  terrible  niece  was  pitiless. 

"  Come !  "  she  said,  "  or  I  will  leave  you  to  find  your 
way  as  best  you  can." 

And  the  poor  dependent  struggled  on. 

At  last,  after  a  tramp  of  more  than  an  hour,  Blanche 
ventured  to  breathe.  She  recognized  Chanlouineau's 
house,  and  she  paused  in  the  little  grove  of  which  Chu- 
pin  had  spoken. 

"  Are  we  at  our  journey's  end  ?  "  inquired  Aunt  Me- 
dea, timidly. 

"  Yes,  but  be  quiet.  Remain  where  you  are,  I  wish 
to  look  about  a  little." 

"  What !  you  are  leaving  me  alone  ?  Blanche,  I 
entreat  you !  What  are  you  going  to  do?  Mon  Dieu! 
you  frighten  me.  I  am  afraid,  Blanche !  " 

But  her  niece  had  gone.  She  was  exploring  the 
grove,  seeking  Chupin.  She  did  not  find  him. 

"  I  knew  the  wretch  was  deceiving  me,"  she  mut- 
tered through  her  set  teeth.  "  Who  knows  but  Mar- 
tial and  Marie-Anne  are  there  in  that  house  now,  mock- 
ing me,  and  laughing  at  my  credulity  ?  " 

She  rejoined  Aunt  Medea,  whom  she  found  half  dead 
with  fright,  and  both  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the 
woods,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  front  of  the 
house. 

A  flickering,  crimson  light  gleamed  through  two 
windows  in  the  second  story.  Evidently  there  was  a 
fire  in  the  room. 

"  That  is  right,"  murmured  Blanche,  bitterly  ; 
"  Martial  is  such  a  chilly  person !  " 

She  was  about  to  approach  the  house,  when  a  pecul- 
iar whistle  rooted  her  to  the  spot. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   455 

She  looked  about  her,  and,  in  spite  of  the  darkness, 
she  discerned  in  the  footpath  leading  to  the  Borderie,  a 
man  laden  with  articles  which  she  could  not  distin- 
guish. 

Almost  immediately  a  woman,  certainly  Marie- 
Anne,  left  the  house  and  advanced  to  meet  him. 

They  exchanged  a  few  words  and  then  walked  to- 
gether to  the  house.  Soon  after  the  man  emerged 
without  his  burden  and  went  away. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  murmured  Mme.  Blanche. 

She  waited  patiently  for  more  than  half  an  hour,  and 
as  nothing  stirred : 

"  Let  us  go  nearer,"  she  said  to  Aunt  Medea,  "  I 
wish  to  look  through  the  windows." 

They  were  approaching  the  house  when,  just  as  they 
reached  the  little  garden,  the  door  of  the  cottage  opened 
so  suddenly  that  they  had  scarcely  time  to  conceal 
themselves  in  a  clump  of  lilac-bushes. 

Marie-Anne  came  out,  imprudently  leaving  the  key 
in  the  door,  passed  down  the  narrow  path,  gained  the 
road,  and  disappeared. 

Blanche  pressed  Aunt  Medea's  arm  with  a  violence 
that  made  her  cry  out. 

"  Wait  for  me  here,"  she  said,  in  a  strained,  unnat- 
ural voice,  "  and  whatever  happens,  whatever  you  hear, 
if  you  wish  to  finish  your  days  at  Courtornieu,  not  a 
word !  Do  not  stir  from  this  spot ;  I  will  return." 

And  she  entered  the  cottage. 

Marie-Anne,  on  going  out,  had  left  a  candle  burn- 
ing on  the  table  in  the  front  room. 

Blanche  seized  it  and  boldly  began  an  exploration 
of  the  dwelling. 

She  had  gone  over  the  arrangement  of  the  Borderie 
so  often  in  her  own  mind  that  the  rooms  seemed  fa- 
miliar to  her,  she  seemed  to  recognize  them. 


456         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

In  spite  of  Chupin's  description  the  poverty  of  this 
humble  abode  astonished  her.  There  was  no  floor  save 
the  ground;  the  walls  were  poorly  whitewashed;  all 
kinds  of  grain  and  bunches  of  herbs  hung  suspended 
from  the  ceiling ;  a  few  heavy  tables,  wooden  benches, 
and  clumsy  chairs  constituted  the  entire  furniture. 

Marie-Anne  evidently  occupied  the  back  room.  It 
was  the  only  apartment  that  contained  a  bed.  This  was 
one  of  those  immense  country  affairs,  very  high  and 
broad,  with  tall  fluted  posts,  draped  with  green  serge 
curtains,  sliding  back  and  forth  on  iron  rings. 

At  the  head  of  the  bed,  fastened  to  the  wall,  hung  a 
receptacle  for  holy-water.  Blanche  dipped  her  ringer 
in  the  bowl ;  it  was  full  to  the  brim. 

Beside  the  window  was  a  wooden  shelf  supported  by 
a  hook,  and  on  the  shelf  stood  a  basin  and  bowl  of  the 
commonest  earthenware. 

"  It  must  be  confessed  that  my  husband  does  not 
provide  a  very  sumptuous  abode  for  his  idol,"  said 
Mme.  Blanche,  with  a  sneer. 

She  was  almost  on  the  point  of  asking  herself  if 
jealousy  had  not  led  her  astray. 

She  remembered  Martial's  fastidious  tastes,  and  she 
did  not  know  how  to  reconcile  them  with  these  meagre 
surroundings.  Then,  there  was  the  holy- water! 

But  her  suspicions  became  stronger  when  she  en- 
tered the  kitchen.  Some  savory  compound  was  bub- 
bling in  a  pot  over  the  fire,  and  several  saucepans,  in 
which  fragrant  stews  were  simmering,  stood  among 
the  warm  ashes. 

"  All  this  cannot  be  for  her,"  murmured  Blanche. 

Then  she  remembered  the  two  windows  in  the  story 
above  which  she  had  seen  illuminated  by  the  trembling 
glow  of  the  fire-light. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    457 

"  I  must  examine  the  rooms  above,"  she  thought. 

The  staircase  led  up  from  the  middle  of  the  room; 
she  knew  this.  She  quickly  ascended  the  stairs,  pushed 
open  a  door,  and  could  not  repress  a  cry  of  surprise  and 
rage. 

She  found  herself  in  the  sumptuously  appointed 
room  which  Chanlouineau  had  made  the  sanctuary  of 
his  great  love,  and  upon  which  he  had  lavished,  with 
the  fanaticism  of  passion,  all  that  was  costly  and  luxu- 
rious. 

"  Then  it  is  true !  "  exclaimed  Blanche.  "  And  I 
thought  just  now  that  all  was  Wo  meagre  and  too  poor ! 
Miserable  dupe  that  I  am !  Below,  all  is  arranged  for 
the  eyes  of  comers  and  goers.  Here,  everything  is  in- 
tended exclusively  for  themselves.  Now,  I  recognize 
Martial's  astonishing  talent  for  dissimulation.  He 
loves  this  vile  creature  so  much  that  he  is  anxious  in 
regard  to  her  reputation ;  he  keeps  his  visits  to  her  a 
secret,  and  this  is  the  hidden  paradise  of  their  love. 
Here  they  laugh  at  me,  the  poor  forsaken  wife,  whose 
marriage  was  but  a  mockery." 

She  had  desired  to  know  the  truth ;  certainty  was 
less  terrible  to  endure  than  this  constant  suspicion. 
And,  as  if  she  found  a  little  enjoyment  in  proving  the 
extent  of  Martial's  love  for  a  hated  rival,  she  took  an 
inventory,  as  it  were,  of  the  magnificent  appointments 
of  the  chamber,  feeling  the  heavy  brocaded  silk  stuff 
that  formed  the  curtains,  and  testing  the  thickness  of 
the  rich  carpet  with  her  foot. 

Everything  indicated  that  Marie-Anne  was  expect- 
ing someone;  the  bright  fire,  the  large  arm-chair 
placed  before  the  hearth,  the  embroidered  slippers  ly- 
ing beside  the  chair. 

And  whom  could  she  expect  save  Martial?    The 


458         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

person  who  had  been  there  a  few  moments  before  prob- 
ably came  to  announce  the  arrival  of  her  lover,  and  she 
had  gone  out  to  meet  him. 

For  a  trifling  circumstance  would  seem  to  indicate 
that  this  messenger  had  not  been  expected. 

Upon  the  mantel  stood  a  bowl  of  still  smoking 
bouillon. 

It  was  evident  that  Marie-Anne  was  on  the  point 
of  drinking  this  when  she  heard  the  signal. 

Mme.  Blanche  was  wondering  how  she  could  profit 
by  her  discovery,  when  her  eyes  fell  upon  a  large  oaken 
box  standing  open  upon  a  table  near  the  glass  door 
leading  into  the  dressing-room,  and  filled  with  tiny 
boxes  and  vials. 

Mechanically  she  approached  it,  and  among  the  bot- 
tles she  saw  two  of  blue  glass,  upon  which  the  word 
"  poison  "  was  inscribed. 

"  Poison !  "  Blanche  could  not  turn  her  eyes  from 
this  word,  which  seemed  to  exert  a  kind  of  fascination 
over  her. 

A  diabolical  inspiration  associated  the  contents  of 
these  vials  with  the  bowl  standing  upon  the  mantel. 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  she  murmured.  "  I  could  escape 
afterward." 

A  terrible  thought  made  her  pause.  Martial  would 
return  with  Marie-Anne ;  who  could  say  that  it  would 
not  be  he  who  would  drink  the  contents  of  the  bowl. 

"  God  shall  decide !  "  she  murmured.  "  It  is  better 
one's  husband  should  be  dead  than  belong  to  an- 
other !  " 

And  with  a  firm  hand,  she  took  up  one  of  the  vials. 

Since  her  entrance  into  the  cottage  Blanche  had 
scarcely  been  conscious  of  her  acts.  Hatred  and  de- 
spair had  clouded  her  brain  like  fumes  of  alcohol. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    459 

But  when  her  hand  came  in  contact  with  the  glass 
containing  the  deadly  drug,  the  terrible  shock  dissi- 
pated her  bewilderment ;  she  regained  the  full  posses- 
sion of  her  faculties;  the  power  of  calm  deliberation 
returned. 

This  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  her  first  thought  was 
this: 

"  I  am  ignorant  even  of  the  name  of  the  poison  which 
I  hold.  What  dose  must  I  administer,  much  or  lit- 
tle?" 

She  opened  the  vial,  not  without  considerable  diffi- 
culty, and  poured  a  few  grains  of  its  contents  into  the 
palm  of  her  hand.  It  was  a  fine,  white  powder,  glisten- 
ing like  pulverized  glass,  and  looking  not  unlike  sugar. 

"  Can  it  really  be  sugar  ?  "  she  thought. 

Resolved  to  ascertain,  she  moistened  the  tip  of  her 
finger,  and  collected  upon  it  a  few  atoms  of  the  powder 
which  she  placed  upon  her  tongue. 

The  taste  was  like  that  of  an  extremely  acid  apple. 

Without  hesitation,  without  remorse,  without  even 
turning  pale,  she  poured  into  the  bowl  the  entire  con- 
tents of  the  vial. 

Her  self-possession  was  so  perfect,  she  even  recol- 
lected that  the  powder  might  be  slow  in  dissolving,  and 
she  stirred  it  gently  for  a  moment  or  more. 

Having  done  this — she  seemed  to  think  of  every- 
thing— she  tasted  the  bouillon.  She  noticed  a  slightly 
bitter  taste,  but  it  was  not  sufficiently  perceptible  to 
awaken  distrust. 

Now  Mme.  Blanche  breathed  freely.  If  she  could 
succeed  in  making  her  escape  she  was  avenged. 

She  was  going  toward  the  door  when  a  sound  on  the 
stairs  startled  her. 

Two  persons  were  ascending  the  staircase. 


460         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

Where  should  she  go  ?  where  could  she  conceal  her- 
self? 

She  was  now  so  sure  she  would  be  detected  that  she 
almost  decided  to  throw  the  bowl  into  the  fire,  and 
then  boldly  face  the  intruders. 

But  no — a  chance  remained — she  darted  into  the 
dressing-room.  She  dared  not  close  the  door;  the 
least  click  of  the  latch  would  have  betrayed  her. 

Marie-Anne  entered  the  chamber,  followed  by  a 
peasant,  bearing  a  large  bundle. 

"  Ah !  here  is  my  candle !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  she 
crossed  the  threshold.  "  Joy  must  be  making  me  lose 
my  wits  !  I  could  have  sworn  that  I  left  it  on  the  table 
downstairs." 

Blanche  shuddered.  She  had  not  thought  of  this 
circumstance. 

"  Where  shall  I  put  this  clothing?  "  asked  the  young 
peasant. 

"  Lay  it  down  here.  I  will  arrange  the  articles  by 
and  by,"  replied  Marie  Anne. 

The  boy  dropped  his  heavy  burden  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"  This  is  the  last,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Now,  our  gen- 
tleman can  come." 

"  At  what  hour  will  he  start  ?  "  inquired  Marie- Anne. 

"  At  eleven  o'clock.  It  will  be  nearly  midnight  when 
he  gets  here." 

Marie-Anne  glanced  at  the  magnificent  clock  on  the 
mantel. 

"  I  have  still  three  hours  before  me,"  said  she ;  "  more 
time  than  I  shall  need.  Supper  is  ready ;  I  am  going 
to  set  the  table  here,  by  the  fire.  Tell  him  to  bring  a 
good  appetite." 

"  I  will  tell  him,  and  many  thanks,  Mademoiselle, 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    461 

for  having  come  to  meet  me  and  aid  me  with  my  second 
load.  It  was  not  so  very  heavy,  but  it  was  clumsy  to 
handle." 

"  Will  you  not  accept  a  glass  of  wine  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  must  hasten  back.  Au  revoir, 
Mademoiselle  Lacheneur." 

"  Au  revoir,  Poignot." 

This  name  Poignot  had  no  significance  in  the  ears 
of  Blanche. 

Ah !  had  she  heard  Monsieur  d'Escorval's  or  the 
abbe's  name  mentioned,  she  might  have  felt  some  doubt 
of  Marie- Anne's  guilt;  her  resolution  might  have 
wavered,  and — who  knows? 

But  no.  Young  Poignot,  in  referring  to  the  baron 
had  said  :  "  our  gentleman,"  Marie- Anne  said :  "  he." 

Is  not  "  he  "  always  the  person  who  is  uppermost  in 
our  minds,  the  husband  whom  one  hates  or  the  lover 
whom  one  adores  ? 

"  Our  gentleman !  "  "  he !  "  Blanche  translated 
Martial. 

Yes,  it  was  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  who  was  to  ar- 
rive at  midnight.  She  was  sure  of  it.  It  was  he  who 
had  been  preceded  by  a  messenger  bearing  clothing. 
This  could  only  mean  that  he  was  about  to  establish 
himself  at  the  Borderie.  Perhaps  he  would  cast  aside 
all  secrecy  and  live  there  openly,  regardless  of  his  rank, 
of  his  dignity,  and  of  his  duties ;  forgetful  even  of  his 
prejudices. 

These  conjectures  inflamed  her  fury  still  more. 

Why  should  she  hesitate  or  tremble  after  that  ? 

Her  only  dread  now,  was  lest  she  should  be  dis- 
covered. 

Aunt  Medea  was,  it  is  true,  in  the  garden ;  but  after 
the  orders  she  had  received  the  poor  woman  would  re- 


462         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

main  motionless  as  stone  behind  the  clump  of  lilacs,  the 
entire  night  if  necessary. 

For  two  hours  and  a  half  Marie-Anne  would  be 
alone  at  the  Borderie.  Blanche  reflected  that  this 
would  give  her  ample  time  to  watch  the  effects  of  the 
poison  upon  her  hated  rival. 

When  the  crime  was  discovered  she  would  be  far 
away.  No  one  knew  she  had  been  absent  from  Court- 
ornieu ;  no  one  had  seen  her  leave  the  chateau ;  Aunt 
Medea  would  be  as  silent  as  the  grave.  And  besides, 
who  would  dare  to  accuse  her,  Marquise  de  Sairmeuse 
nee  Blanche  de  Courtornieu,  of  being  the  murderer  ? 
.  **  But  she  does  not  drink  it !  "  Blanche  thought. 

Marie-Anne  had,  in  fact,  forgotten  the  bouillon  en- 
tirely. She  had  opened  the  bundle  of  clothing,  and 
was  busily  arranging  the  articles  in  a  wardrobe  near 
the  bed. 

Who  talks  of  presentiments!  She  was  as  gay  and 
vivacious  as  in  her  days  of  happiness ;  and  as  she 
worked,  she  hummed  an  air  that  Maurice  had  often 
sung. 

She  felt  that  her  troubles  were  nearly  over;  her 
friends  would  soon  be  around  her. 

When  her  task  of  putting  away  the  clothing  was 
completed  and  the  wardrobe  closed,  she  drew  a  small 
table  up  before  the  fire. 

Not  until  then  did  she  notice  the  bowl  standing  upon 
the  mantel. 

"  Stupid !  "  she  said,  with  a  laugh ;  and  taking  the 
bowl  she  raised  it  to  her  lips. 

From  her  hiding-place  Blanche  had  heard  Marie- 
Anne's  exclamation ;  she  saw  the  movement,  and  yet 
not  the  slightest  remorse  struck  her  soul. 

Marie-Anne  drank  but  one  mouthful,  then,  in  evi- 
dent disgust,  sat  the  bowl  down. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    463 

A  horrible  dread  made  the  watcher's  heart  stand  still. 

"  Does  she  notice  a  peculiar  taste  in  the  bouillon  f" 
she  thought. 

Xo ;  but  it  had  grown  cold,  and  a  slight  coating  of 
grease  had  formed  over  the  top.  Marie-Anne  took 
the  spoon,  skimmed  the  bouillon,  and  then  stirred  it  up 
for  some  time,  to  divide  the  greasy  particles. 

After  she  had  done  this  she  drank  the  liquid,  put  the 
bowl  back  upon  the  mantel,  and  resumed  her  work. 

It  was  done.  The  denouement  no  longer  depended 
upon  Blanche  de  Courtornieu's  will.  Come  what 
would,  she  was  a  murderess. 

But  though  she  was  conscious  of  her  crime,  the  ex- 
cess of  her  hatred  prevented  her  from  realizing  its 
enormity.  She  said  to  herself  that  it  was  only  an  act 
of  justice  which  she  had  accomplished ;  that  the  ven- 
geance she  had  taken  was  not  proportionate  to  the  of- 
fence, and  that  nothing  could  atone  for  the  torture  she 
had  endured. 

But  in  a  few  moments  a  sinister  apprehension  took 
possession  of  her  mind. 

Her  knowledge  of  the  effects  of  poison  was  extreme- 
ly limited.  She  had  expected  to  see  Marie-Anne  fall 
dead  before  her,  as  if  stricken  down  by  a  thunder-bolt. 

But  no.  The  moments  slipped  by,  and  Marie-Anne 
continued  her  preparations  for  supper  as  if  nothing  had 
occurred. 

She  spread  a  white  cloth  over  the  table,  smoothed  it 
with  her  hands,  and  placed  a  dish  upon  it. 

"  What  if  she  should  come  in  here ! "  thought 
Blanche. 

The  fear  of  punishment  which  precedes  remorse, 
made  her  heart  beat  with  such  violence  that  she  could 
not  understand  why  its  throbbings  were  not  heard  in 


04         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

the  adjoining  room.  Her  terror  increased  when  she 
saw  Marie-Anne  take  the  light  and  go  downstairs. 
Blanche  was  left  alone.  The  thought  of  making  her 
escape  occurred  to  her;  but  how,  and  by  what  way 
could  she  leave  the  house  without  being  seen  ? 

"  It  must  be  that  poison  does  not  work !  "  she  said, 
in  a  rage. 

Alas !  no.  She  knew  better  when  Marie-Anne  re- 
appeared. 

In  the  few  moments  she  had  spent  below,  her  feat- 
ures had  become  frightfully  changed.  Her  face  was 
livid  and  mottled  with  purple  spots,  her  eyes  were  dis- 
tended and  glittered  with  a  strange  brilliancy.  She 
let  the  plates  which  she  held  fall  upon  the  table  with  a 
crash. 

"  The  poison  !   it  begins !  "  thought  Blanche. 

Marie-Anne  stood  on  the  hearth,  gazing  wildly 
around  her,  as  if  seeking  the  cause  of  her  incompre- 
hensible suffering.  She  passed  and  re-passed  her  hand 
across  her  forehead,  which  was  bathed  in  a  cold  perspi- 
ration ;  she  gasped  for  breath.  Then  suddenly,  over- 
come with  nausea,  she  staggered,  pressed  her  hands 
convulsively  upon  her  breast,  and  sank  into  the  arm- 
chair, crying: 

"Oh,  God!  how  I  suffer!" 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

Kneeling  by  the  half-open  door,  Blanche  eagerly 
watched  the  workings  of  the  poison  which  she  had  ad- 
ministered. 

She  was  so  near  her  victim  that  she  could  distinguish 
the  throbbing  of  her  temples,  and  sometimes  she  fan- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    465 

cied  she  could  feel  upon  her  cheek  her  rival's  breath, 
which  scorched  like  flame. 

An  utter  prostration  followed  Marie-Anne's  par- 
oxysm of  agony.  One  would  have  supposed  her  dead 
had  it  not  been  for  the  convulsive  workings  of  the  jaws 
and  her  labored  breathing. 

But  soon  the  nausea  returned,  and  she  was  seized 
with  vomiting.  Each  effort  to  relieve  seemed  to  wrench 
her  whole  body;  and  gradually  a  ghastly  tint  crept 
over  her  face,  the  spots  upon  her  cheeks  became  more 
pronounced  in  tint,  her  eyes  appeared  ready  to  burst 
from  their  sockets,  and  great  drops  of  perspiration 
rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

Her  sufferings  must  have  been  intolerable.  She 
moaned  feebly  at  times,  and  occasionally  rendered 
heart-rending  shrieks.  Then  she  faltered  fragmentary 
sentences ;  she  begged  piteously  for  water  or  entreated 
God  to  shorten  her  torture. 

"  Ah,  it  is  horrible !  I  suffer  too  much !  Death ! 
My  God !  grant  me  death !  " 

She  invoked  all  the  friends  she  had  ever  known,  call- 
ing for  aid  in  a  despairing  voice. 

She  called  Mme.  d'Escorval,  the  abbe,  Maurice,  her 
brother,  Chanlouineau,  Martial! 

Martial,  this  name  was  more  than  sufficient  to  ex- 
tinguish all  pity  in  the  heart  of  Mme.  Blanche. 

"  Go  on !  call  your  lover,  call !  "  she  said  to  herself, 
bitterly.  "  He  will  come  too  late." 

And  as  Marie-Anne  repeated  the  name  in  a  tone  of 
agonized  entreaty: 

"  Suffer !  "  continued  Mme.  Blanche,  "  suffer,  you 
who  have  inspired  Martial  with  the  odious  courage  to 
forsake  me,  his  wife,  as  a  drunken  lackey  would  aban- 
don the  lowest  of  degraded  creatures!  Die,  and  my 
husband  will  return  to  me  repentant." 
30 


466         THE  HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

No,  she  had  no  pity.  She  felt  a  difficulty  in  breath- 
ing, but  that  resulted  simply  from  the  instinctive  hor- 
ror which  the  sufferings  of  others  inspire — an  entirely 
different  physical  impression,  which  is  adorned  with 
the  fine  name  of  sensibility,  but  which  is,  in  reality,  the 
grossest  selfishness. 

And  yet,  Marie- Anne  was  perceptibly  sinking.  Soon 
she  had  not  strength  even  to  moan ;  her  eyes  closed, 
and  after  a  spasm  which  brought  a  bloody  foam  to  her 
lips,  her  head  sank  back,  and  she  lay  motionless. 

"  It  is  over,"  murmured  Blanche. 

She  rose,  but  her  limbs  trembled  so  that  she  could 
scarcely  stand. 

Her  heart  remained  firm  and  implacable;  but  the 
flesh  failed. 

Never  had  she  imagined  a  scene  like  that  which  she 
had  just  witnessed.  She  knew  that  poison  caused 
death ;  she  had  not  suspected  the  agony  of  that  death. 

She  no  longer  thought  of  augmenting  Marie- Anne's 
sufferings  by  upbraiding  her.  Her  only  desire  now 
was  to  leave  this  house,  whose  very  floor  seemed  to 
scorch  her  feet. 

A  strange,  inexplicable  sensation  crept  over  her ;  it 
was  not  yet  fright,  it  was  the  stupor  that  follows  the 
commission  of  a  terrible  crime — the  stupor  of 'the  mur- 
derer. 

Still,  she  compelled  herself  to  wait  a  few  moments 
longer;  then  seeing  that  Marie- Anne  still  remained 
motionless  and  with  closed  eyes,  she  ventured  to  softly 
open  the  door  and  to  enter  the  room  in  which  her  vic- 
tim was  lying. 

But  she  had  not  advanced  three  steps  before  Marie- 
Anne  suddenly,  and  as  if  she  had  been  galvanized  by 
an  electric  battery,  rose  and  extended  her  arms  to  bar 
her  enemy's  passage. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    467 

This  movement  was  so  unexpected  and  so  frightful 
that  Mme.  Blanche  recoiled. 

"  The  Marquise  de  Sairmeuse,"  faltered  Marie- 
Anne.  "You,  Blanche— here !" 

And  her  suffering",  explained  by  the  presence  of  this 
young  girl  who  once  had  been  her  friend,  but  who  was 
now  her  bitterest  enemy,  she  exclaimed : 

"  You  are  my  murderer !  " 

Blanche  de  Courtornieu's  was  one  of  those  iron  nat- 
ures that  break,  but  never  bend. 

Since  she  had  been  discovered,  nothing  in  the  world 
would  induce  her  to  deny  her  guilt. 

She  advanced  resolutely,  and  in  a  firm  voice : 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  have  taken  my  revenge.  Do 
you  think  I  did  not  suffer  that  evening  when  you  sent 
your  brother  to  take  away  my  newly  wedded  husband, 
upon  whose  face  I  have  not  gazed  since  ?  " 

"  Your  husband !  I  sent  to  take  him  away !  I  do 
not  understand  you." 

"  Do  you  then  dare  to  deny  that  you  are  not  Martial's 
mistress !  " 

"  The  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse !  I  saw  him  yesterday 
for  the  first  time  since  Baron  d'Escorval's  escape." 

The  effort  which  she  had  made  to  rise  and  to  speak 
had  exhausted  her  strength.  She  fell  back  in  the  arm- 
chair. 

•But  Blanche  was  pitiless. 

"  You  have  not  seen  Martial !  Tell  me,  then,  who 
gave  you  this  costly  furniture,  these  silken  hangings, 
all  the  luxury  that  surrounds  you  ?  " 

"  Chanlouineau." 

Blanche  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  So  be  it,"  she  said,  with  an  ironical  smile,  "  but  is  it 
Chanlouineau  for  whom  you  are  waiting  this  evening  ? 


468         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

Is  it  for  Chanlouineau  you  have  warmed  these  slippers 
and  laid  this  table?  Was  it  Chanlouineau  who  sent 
his  clothing  by  a  peasant  named  Poignot?  You  see 
that  I  know  all " 

But  her  victim  was  silent. 

"  For  whom  are  you  waiting  ?  "  she  insisted.  "  An- 
swer!" 

"  I  cannot !  " 

"  You  know  that  it  is  your  lover !  wretched  woman 
; — my  husband,  Martial !  " 

Marie-Anne  was  considering  the  situation  as  well  as 
her  intolerable  sufferings  and  troubled  mind  would 
permit. 

Could  she  tell  what  guests  she  was  expecting? 

To  name  Baron  d'Escorval  to  Blanche,  would  it  not 
ruin  and  betray  him  ?  They  hoped  for  a  safe-conduct, 
a  revision  of  judgment,  but  he  was  none  the  less  under 
sentence  of  death,  executory  in  twenty-four  hours. 

"  So  you  refuse  to  tell  me  whom  you  expect  here  in 
an  hour — at  midnight." 

"  I  refuse." 

But  a  sudden  impulse  took  possession  of  the  suffer- 
er's mind. 

Though  the  slightest  movement  caused  her  intoler- 
able agony,  she  tore  open  her  dress  and  drew  from  her 
bosom  a  folded  paper. 

"  I  am  not  the  mistress  of  the  Marquis  de  Sair- 
meuse,"  she  said,  in  an  almost  inaudible  voice ;  "  I  am 
the  wife  of  Maurice  d'Escorval.  Here  is  the  proof — 
read." 

No  sooner  had  Blanche  glanced  at  the  paper,  than 
she  became  as  pale  as  her  victim.  Her  sight  failed  her ; 
there  was  a  strange  ringing  in  her  ears,  a  cold  sweat 
started  from  every  pore. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    469 

This  paper  was  the  marriage-certificate  of  Maurice 
and  Marie-Anne,  drawn  up  by  the  cure  of  Vigano,  wit- 
nessed by  the  old  physician  and  Bavois,  and  sealed  with 
the  seal  of  the  parish. 

The  proof  was  indisputable.  She  had  committed  a 
useless  crime ;  she  had  murdered  an  innocent  woman. 

The  first  good  impulse  of  her  life  made  her  heart  beat 
more  quickly.  She  did  not  stop  to  consider ;  she  for- 
got the  danger  to  which  she  exposed  herself,  and  in  a 
ringing  voice  she  cried : 

"Help!    help!" 

Eleven  o'clock  wras  sounding;  the  whole  country 
was  asleep.  The  farm-house  nearest  the  Borderie  was 
half  a  league  distant. 

The  voice  of  Blanche  was  lost  in  the  deep  stillness  of 
the  night. 

In  the  garden  below  Aunt  Medea  heard  it,  perhaps ; 
but  she  would  have  allowed  herself  to  be  chopped  in 
pieces  rather  than  stir  from  her  place. 

And  yet,  there  was  one  who  heard  that  cry  of  dis- 
tress. Had  Blanche  and  her  victim  been  less  over- 
whelmed with  despair,  they  would  have  heard  a  noise 
upon  the  staircase,  which  creaked  beneath  the  tread  of 
a  man  who  was  cautiously  ascending  it.  But  it  was 
not  a  saviour,  for  he  did  not  answer  the  appeal.  But 
even  though  there  had  been  aid  near  at  hand,  it  would 
have  come  too  late. 

» Marie-Anne  felt  that  there  was  no  longer  any  hope 
for  her,  and  that  it  was  the  chill  of  death  which  was 
creeping  up  to  her  heart.  She  felt  that  her  life  was 
fast  ebbing  away. 

So,  when  Blanche  seemed  about  to  rush  out  in 
search  of  assistance,  she  detained  her  by  a  gesture,  and 
gently  said : 


470        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

"  Blanche." 

The  murderess  paused. 

"  Do  not  summon  anyone ;  it  would  do  no  good. 
Remain  ;  be  calm,  that  I  may  at  least  die  in  peace.  It 
will  not  be  long,  now." 

"  Hush  !  do  not  speak  so.  You  must  not,  you  shall 
not  die !  If  you  should  die — great  God !  what  would 
my  life  be  afterward  ?  " 

Marie-Anne  made  no  reply.  The  poison  was  pur- 
suing its  work  of  dissolution.  Her  breath  made  a 
whistling  sound  as  it  forced  its  way  through  her  in- 
flamed throat ;  her  tongue,  when  she  moved  it,  pro- 
duced in  her  mouth  the  terrible  sensation  of  a  piece  of 
red-hot  iron ;  her  lips  were  parched  and  swollen ;  her 
hands,  inert  and  paralyzed,  would  no  longer  obey  her 
will. 

But  the  horror  of  the  situation  restored  Blanche's 
calmness. 

"  All  is  not  yet  lost,"  she  exclaimed.  "  It  was  in  that 
great  box  there  upon  the  table,  where  I  found  " — she 
dared  not  utter  the  word  poison — "  the  white  powder 
which  I  poured  into  the  bowl.  You  know  this  pow- 
der ;  you  must  know  the  antidote." 

Marie-Anne  sadly  shook  her  head. 

"  Nothing  can  save  me  now,"  she  murmured,  in  an 
almost  inaudible  voice ;  "  but  I  do  not  complain. 
Who  knows  the  misery  from  which  death  may  preserve 
me  ?  I  do  not  crave  life,  I  have  suffered  so  much  dur- 
ing the  past  year ;  I  have  endured  such  humiliation ;  I 
have  wept  so  much  !  A  curse  was  upon  me !  " 

She  was  suddenly  endowed  with  that  clearness  of 
mental  vision  so  often  granted  to  the  dying.  She  saw 
how  she  had  wrought  her  own  undoing  by  consenting 
to  accept  the  perfidious  role  imposed  upon  her  by  her 


THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME        47* 

father,  and  how  she,  herself,  had  paved  the  way  for  the 
falsehoods,  slander,  crimes  and  misfortunes  of  which 
she  had  been  the  victim. 

Her  voice  grew  fainter  and  fainter.  Worn  out  by 
suffering,  a  sensation  of  drowsiness  stole  over  her. 
She  was  falling  asleep  in  the  arms  of  death. 

Suddenly  such  a  terrible  thought  pierced  the  stupor 
which  enveloped  her  that  she  uttered  a  heart-breaking 
cry: 

"  My  child !  " 

Collecting,  by  a  superhuman  effort,  all  the  will,  en- 
ergy, and  strength  that  the  poison  had  left  her,  she 
straightened  herself  in  her  arm-chair,  her  features  con- 
tracted by  mortal  anguish. 

"  Blanche ! "  she  said,  with  an  energy  of  which  one 
would  have  supposed  her  incapable.  "  Blanche,  listen 
to  me.  It  is  the  secret  of  my  life  which  I  am  about  to 
disclose ;  no  one  suspects  it.  I  have  a  son  by  Maurice. 
Alas !  many  months  have  elapsed  since  my  husband 
disappeared.  If  he  is  dead,  what  will  become  of  my 
child  ?  Blanche,  you,  who  have  killed  me,  must  swear 
to  me  that  you  will  be  a  mother  to  my  child !  " 

Blanche  was  utterly  overcome. 

"  I  swear !  "  she  sobbed,  "  I  swear !  " 

"  On  that  condition,  but  on  that  condition  alone,  I 
pardon  you.  But  take  care !  Do  not  forget  your 
oath !  Blanche,  God  sometimes  permits  the  dead  to 
avenge  themselves !  You  have  sworn,  remember. 

"  My  spirit  will  allow  you  no  rest  if  you  do  not  fulfil 
your  vow." 

"  I  will  remember,"  sobbed  Blanche ;  "  I  will  re- 
member. But  the  child " 

"  Ah !  I  was  afraid — cowardly  creature  that  I  was  ! 
I  dreaded  the  shame — then  Maurice  insisted — I  sent 


472         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

my  child  away — your  jealousy  and  my  death  are  my 
punishment.  Poor  child  !  I  abandoned  him  to  strang- 
ers. Wretched  woman  that  I  am !  Ah  !  this  suffer- 
ing is  too  horrible.  Blanche,  remember — 

She  spoke  again,  but  her  words  were  indistinct,  in- 
audible. 

Blanche  frantically  seized  the  dying  woman's  arm, 
and  endeavored  to  arouse  her. 

"  To  whom  have  you  confided  your  child  ?  "  she  re- 
peated ;  "  to  whom  ?  Marie- Anne — a  word  more — a 
single  word — a  name,  Marie-Anne !  " 

The  unfortunate  woman's  lips  moved,  but  the  death- 
rattle  sounded  in  her  throat;  a  terrible  convulsion 
shook  her  form ;  she  slid  down  from  the  chair,  and  fell 
full  length  upon  the  floor. 

Marie-Anne  was  dead — dead,  and  she  had  not  dis«- 
closed  the  name  of  the  old  physician  at  Vigano  to 
whom  she  had  intrusted  her  child.  She  was  dead,  and 
the  terrified  murderess  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
as  rigid  and  motionless  as  a  statue.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  madness — a  madness  like  that  which  had  stricken 
her  father — was  developing  itself  in  her  brain. 

She  forgot  everything;  she  forgot  that  a  guest  was 
expected  at  midnight;  that  time  was  flying,  and  that 
she  would  surely  be  discovered  if  she  did  not  flee. 

But  the  man  who  had  entered  when  she  cried  for  aid 
was  watching  over  her.  When  he  saw  that  Marie- 
Anne  had  breathed  her  last,  he  made  a  slight  noise  at 
the  door,  and  thrust  his  leering  face  into  the  room. 

"  Chupin !  "  faltered  Mme.  Blanche. 

"  In  the  flesh,"  he  responded.  "  This  was  a  grand 
chance  for  you.  Ah,  ha !  The  business  riled  your 
stomach  a  little,  but  nonsense !  that  will  soon  pass  off. 
But  we  must  not  dawdle  here ;  someone  may  come  in. 
Let  us  make  haste." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    473 

Mechanically  the  murderess  advanced;  but  Marie- 
Anne's  dead  body  lay  between  her  and  the  door,  bar- 
ring the  passage.  To  leave  the  room  it  was  necessary 
to  step  over  the  lifeless  form  of  her  victim.  She  had 
not  courage  to  do  this,  and  recoiled  with  a  shudder. 

But  Chupin  was  troubled  by  no  such  scruples.  He 
sprang  across  the  body,  lifted  Blanche  as  if  she  had 
been  a  child  and  carried  her  out  of  the  house. 

He  was  drunk  with  joy.  Fears  for  the  future  no 
longer  disquieted  him,  now  that  Mme.  Blanche  was 
bound  to  him  by  the  strongest  of  chains — complicity 
in  crime. 

He  saw  himself  on  the  threshold  of  a  life  of  ease  and 
continual  feasting.  Remorse  for  Lacheneur's  betrayal 
had  ceased  to  trouble  him.  He  saw  himself  sumptu- 
ously fed,  lodged  and  clothed;  above  all,  effectually 
guarded  by  an  army  of  servants. 

Blanche,  who  had  experienced  a  feeling  of  deadly 
faintness,  was  revived  by  the  cool  night-air. 

"  I  wish  to  walk,"  said  she. 

Chupin  placed  her  on  the  ground  about  twenty 
paces  from  the  house. 

"  And  Aunt  Medea !  "  she  exclaimed. 

Her  relative  was  beside  her;  like  one  of  those  dogs 
who  are  left  at  the  door  when  their  master  enters  a 
house,  she  had  instinctively  followed  her  niece  on  see- 
ing her  borne  from  the  cottage  by  the  old  poacher. 

"  We  must  not  stop  to  talk,"  said  Chupin.  "  Come, 
I  will  lead  the  way." 

And  taking  Blanche  by  the  arm,  he  hastened  tow- 
ard the  grove. 

"  Ah !  so  Marie- Anne  had  a  child,"  he  said,  as  they 
hurried  on.  "  She  was  pretended  to  be  such  a  saint ! 
But  where  the  devil  has  she  put  it  ?  " 


474        THE   HONOR   OF   THE    NAME 

"  I  shall  find  it." 

"  Hum !    That  is  easier  said  than  done." 

A  shrill  laugh,  resounding  in  the  darkness,  interrupt- 
ed him.  He  released  his  hold  on  the  arm  of  Blanche 
and  assumed  an  attitude  of  defence. 

Vain  precaution !  A  man  concealed  behind  a  tree 
bounded  upon  him,  and,  plunging  his  knife  four  times 
into  the  old  poacher's  writhing  body,  cried: 

"  Holy  Virgin  !  now  is  my  vow  fulfilled !  I  shall  no 
longer  be  obliged  to  eat  with  my  fingers !  " 

"  The  innkeeper ! "  groaned  the  wounded  man, 
sinking  to  the  earth. 

For  once  in  her  life,  Aunt  Medea  manifested  some 
energy. 

"  Come ! "  she  shrieked,  wild  with  fear,  dragging 
her  niece  away.  "  Come — he  is  dead  !  " 

Not  quite.  The  traitor  had  strength  to  crawl  home 
and  knock  at  the  door. 

His  wife  and  youngest  son  were  sleeping  soundly. 
His  eldest  son,  who  had  just  returned  home,  opened  the 
door. 

Seeing  his  father  prostrate  on  the  ground,  he  thought 
he  was  intoxicated,  and  tried  to  lift  him  and  carry  him 
into  the  house,  but  the  old  poacher  begged  him  to 
desist. 

"  Do  not  touch  me,"  said  he.  "  It  is  all  over  with 
me ;  but  listen ;  Lacheneur's  daughter  has  just  been 
poisoned  by  Madame  Blanche.  It  was  to  tell  you  this 
that  I  dragged  myself  here.  This  knowledge  is  worth 
a  fortune,  my  boy,  if  you  are  not  a  fool !  " 

And  he  died,  without  being  able  to  tell  his  family 
where  he  had  concealed  the  price  of  Lacheneur's  blood. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME         475 


CHAPTER   XLVII 

Of  all  the  persons  who  witnessed  Baron  d'Escorval's 
terrible  fall,  the  abbe  was  the  only  one  who  did  not 
despair. 

What  a  learned  doctor  would  not  have  dared  to  do, 
he  did. 

He  was  a  priest ;  he  had  faith.  He  remembered  the 
sublime  saying  of  Ambroise  Pare :  "  I  dress  the  wound : 
God  heals  it." 

After  a  six  months'  sojourn  in  Father  Poignot's  se- 
cluded farm-house,  M.  d'Escorval  was  able  to  sit  up 
and  to  walk  about  a  little,  with  the  aid  of  crutches. 

Then  he  began  to  be  seriously  inconvenienced  by 
his  cramped  quarters  in  the  loft,  where  prudence  com- 
pelled him  to  remain  ;  and  it  was  with  transports  of  joy 
that  he  welcomed  the  idea  of  taking  up  his  abode  at 
the  Borderie  with  Marie-Anne. 

When  the  day  of  departure  had  been  decided  upon, 
he  counted  the  minutes  as  impatiently  as  a  school-boy 
pining  for  vacation. 

"  I  am  suffocating  here,"  he  said  to  his  wife.  "  I  am 
suffocating.  Time  drags  so  slowly.  When  will  the 
happy  day  come  ?  " 

It  came  at  last.  During  the  morning  all  the  articles 
which  they  had  succeeded  in  procuring  during  their 
stay  at  the  farm-house  were  collected  and  packed ;  and 
when  night  came,  Poignot's  son  began  the  moving. 

"  Everything  is  at  the  Borderie,"  said  the  honest 
fellow,  on  returning  from  his  last  trip,  "  and  Mademoi- 
selle Lacheneur  bids  the  baron  bring  a  good  appetite." 

"  I  shall  have  one,  never  fear !  "  responded  the  baron, 
gayly.  "  We  shall  all  have  one." 


476        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

Father  Poignot  himself  was  busily  engaged  in  har- 
nessing his  best  horse  to  the  cart  which  was  to  convey 
M.  d'Escorval  to  his  new  home. 

The  worthy  man's  heart  grew  sad  at  the  thought  of 
the  departure  of  these  guests,  for  whose  sake  he  had 
incurred  such  danger.  He  felt  that  he  should  miss 
them,  that  the  house  would  seem  gloomy  and  deserted 
after  they  left  it. 

He  would  allow  no  one  else  to  perform  the  task  of 
arranging  the  mattress  comfortably  in  the  cart.  When 
this  had  been  done  to  his  satisfaction,  he  heaved  a  deep 
sigh,  and  exclaimed : 

"  It  is  time  to  start !  " 

Slowly  he  ascended  the  narrow  staircase  leading  to 
the  loft. 

M.  d'Escorval  had  not  thought  of  the  moment  of 
parting. 

At  the  sight  of  the  honest  farmer,  who  came  toward 
him,  his  face  crimsoned  with  emotion  to  bid  him  fare- 
well, he  forgot  all  the  comforts  that  awaited  him  at  the 
Borderie,  in  the  remembrance  of  the  loyal  and  cour- 
ageous hospitality  he  had  received  in  the  house  he  was 
about  to  leave.  The  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes. 

"  You  have  rendered  me  a  service  which  nothing 
can  repay,  Father  Poignot,"  he  said,  with  intense  feel- 
ing. "  You  have  saved  my  life." 

"  Oh !  we  will  not  talk  of  that,  Baron.  In  my  place, 
you  would  have  done  the  same — neither  more  nor  less." 

"  I  shall  not  attempt  to  express  my  thanks,  but  I 
hope  to  live  long  enough  to  prove  that  I  am  not  un- 
grateful." 

The  staircase  was  so  narrow  that  they  had  consider- 
able difficulty  in  carrying  the  baron  down ;  but  finally 
they  had  him  comfortably  extended  upon  his  mattress 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   477 

and  threw  over  him  a  few  handsful  of  straw,  which  con- 
cealed him  entirely. 

"  Farewell,  then !  "  said  the  old  farmer,  when  the 
last  hand-shake  had  been  exchanged,  "  or  rather  an 
revoir,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  Madame,  and  you,  my  good 
cure." 

"  All  ready  ?  "  inquired  young  Poignot. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  invalid. 

The  cart,  driven  with  the  utmost  caution  by  the 
young  peasant,  started  slowly  on  its  way. 

Mme.  d'Escorval,  leaning  upon  the  abbes  arm, 
walked  about  twenty  paces  in  the  rear. 

It  was  very  dark,  but  had  it  been  as  light  as  day  the 
former  cure  of  Sairmeuse  might  have  encountered  any 
of  his  old  parishioners  without  the  least  danger  of  de- 
tection. 

His  hair  and  his  beard  had  been  allowed  to  grow ; 
his  tonsure  had  entirely  disappeared,  and  his  sedentary 
life  had  caused  him  to  become  much  stouter.  He  was 
clad  like  all  the  well-to-do  peasants  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  his  face  was  hidden  by  a  large  slouch  hat. 

He  had  not  felt  so  tranquil  in  mind  for  months. 
Obstacles  which  had  appeared  almost  insurmountable 
had  vanished.  In  the  near  future  he  saw  the  baron  de- 
clared innocent  by  impartial  judges ;  he  saw  himself 
reinstalled  in  the  presbytery  of  Sairmeuse. 

The  recollection  of  Maurice  was  the  only  thing  that 
marred  his  happiness.  Why  did  he  not  give  some  sign 
of  life? 

"  But  if  he  had  met  with  any  misfortune  we  should 
have  heard  of  it,"  thought  the  priest.  "  He  has  with 
him  a  brave  man — an  old  soldier  who  would  risk  any- 
thing to  come  and  tell  us." 

He  was  so  absorbed  in  these  thoughts  that  he  did  not 


478         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

observe  that  Mme.  d'Escorval  was  leaning  more  and 
more  heavily  upon  his  arm. 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  confess  it,"  she  said  at  last,  "  but 
I  can  go  no  farther.  It  has  been  so  long  since  I  was 
out  of  doors  that  I  have  almost  forgotten  how  to  walk." 

"  Fortunately,  we  are  almost  there,"  replied  the 
priest. 

A  moment  after  young  Poignot  stopped  his  cart  in 
the  road,  at  the  entrance  of  the  little  footpath  leading 
to  the  Borderie. 

"  Our  journey  is  ended !  "  he  remarked  to  the  baron. 
Then  he  uttered  a  low  whistle,  like  that  which  he  had 
given  a  few  hours  before,  to  warn  Marie-Anne  of  his 
arrival. 

No  one  appeared;  he  whistled  again,  louder  this 
time ;  then  with  all  his  might — still  no  response. 

Mme.  d'Escorval  and  the  abbe  had  now  overtaken 
the  cart. 

"  It  is  very  strange  that  Marie- Anne  does  not  hear 
me,"  remarked  young  Poignot,  turning  to  them.  "  We 
cannot  take  the  baron  to  the  house  until  we  have  seen 
her.  She  knows  that  very  well.  Shall  I  run  up  and 
warn  her  ?  " 

"  She  is  asleep,  perhaps,"  replied  the  abbe;  "  you 
stay  with  your  horse,  my  boy,  and  I  will  go  and  wake 
her." 

Certainly  he  did  not  feel  the  slightest  disquietude. 
All  was  calm  and  still ;  a  bright  light  was  shining 
through  the  windows  of  the  second  story. 

Still,  when  he  saw  the  open  door,  a  vague  presenti- 
ment of  evil  stirred  his  heart. 

"  What  can  this  mean  ?  "  he  thought. 

There  was  no  light  in  the  lower  rooms,  and  the  abbe 
was  obliged  to  feel  for  the  staircase  with  his  hands. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    479 

At  last  he  found  it  and  went  up.  But  upon  the 
threshold  of  the  chamber  he  paused,  petrified  with 
horror  by  the  spectacle  before  him. 

Poor  Marie- Anne  was  lying  on  the  floor.  Her  eyes, 
which  were  wide  open,  were  covered  with  a  white  film ; 
her  black  and  swollen  tongue  was  hanging  from  her 
mouth. 

"  Dead  !  "  faltered  the  priest,  "  dead !  " 

But  this  could  not  be.  The  abbe  conquered  his  weak- 
ness, and  approaching  the  poor  girl,  he  took  her  hand. 

It  was  icy  cold ;  the  arm  was  rigid  as  iron. 

"  Poisoned !  "  he  murmured ;  "  poisoned  with  arse- 
nic." 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  and  cast  a  bewildered  glance 
around  the  room.  His  eyes  fell  upon  his  medicine- 
chest,  open  upon  the  table. 

He  rushed  to  it  and  unhesitatingly  took  out  a  vial, 
uncorked  it,  and  inverted  it  on  the  palm  of  his  hand — 
it  was  empty. 

"  I  was  not  mistaken !  "  he  exclaimed. 

But  he  had  no  time  to  lose  in  conjectures. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  induce  the  baron 
to  return  to  the  farm-house  without  telling  him  the  ter- 
rible misfortune  which  had  occurred. 

To  find  a  pretext  was  easy  enough. 

The  priest  hastened  back  to  the  wagon,  and  with 
well-affected  calmness  told  the  baron  that  it  would  be 
impossible  for  him  to  take  up  his  abode  at  the  Borclerie 
at  present,  that  several  suspicious-looking  characters 
had  been  seen  prowling  about,  and  that  they  must  be 
more  prudent  than  ever,  now  they  could  rely  upon 
the  kindly  intervention  of  Martial  de  Sairmeuse. 

At  last,  but  not  without  considerable  reluctance,  the 
baron  yielded. 


480         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  You  desire  it,  cure"  he  sighed,  "  so  I  obey.  Come, 
Poignot,  my  boy,  take  me  back  to  your  father's 
house." 

Mme.  d'Escorval  took  a  seat  in  the  cart  beside  her 
husband ;  the  priest  watched  them  as  they  drove 
away,  and  not  until  the  sound  of  their  carriage-wheels 
had  died  away  in  the  distance  did  he  venture  to  go 
back  to  the  Borderie. 

He  was  ascending  the  stairs  when  he  heard  moans 
that  seemed  to  issue  from  the  chamber  of  death.  The 
sound  sent  all  his  blood  wildly  rushing  to  his  heart. 
He  darted  up  the  staircase. 

A  man  was  kneeling  beside  Marie-Anne,  weeping 
bitterly.  The  expression  of  his  face,  his  attitude,  his 
sobs  betrayed  the  wildest  despair.  He  was  so  lost  in 
grief  that  he  did  not  observe  the  abbe's  entrance. 

Who  was  this  mourner  who  had  found  his  way  to 
the  house  of  death? 

After  a  moment,  the  priest  divined  who  the  intruder 
was,  though  he  did  not  recognize  him. 

"  Jean !  "  he  cried,  "  Jean  Lacheneur !  " 

With  a  bound  the  young  man  was  on  his  feet,  pale 
and  menacing;  a  flame  of  anger  drying  the  tears  in 
his  eyes. 

"  Who  are  you?  "  he  demanded,  in  a  terrible  voice. 
"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  What  do  you  wish  with 
me?" 

By  his  peasant  dress  and  by  his  long  beard,  the  for- 
mer cure  of  Sairmeuse  was  so  effectually  disguised 
that  he  was  obliged  to  tell  who  he  really  was. 

As  soon  as  he  uttered  his  name,  Jean  uttered  a  cry 
of  joy. 

"  God  has  sent  you  here !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Marie- 
Anne  cannot  be  dead !  You,  who  have  saved  so  many 
others,  will  save  her." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    481 

As  the  priest  sadly  pointed  to  heaven,  Jean  paused, 
his  face  more  ghastly  than  before.  He  understood  now 
that  there  was  no  hope. 

"  Ah !  "  he  murmured,  with  an  accent  of  frightful 
despondency,  "  fate  shows  us  no  mercy.  I  have  been 
watching  over  Marie-Anne,  though  from  a  distance; 
and  this  very  evening  I  was  coming  to  say  to  her: 
'  Beware,  sister — be  cautious ! ' ' 

"  What !  you  knew " 

"  I  knew  she  was  in  great  danger ;  yes,  Monsieur. 
An  hour  ago,  while  I  was  eating  my  supper  in  a  res- 
taurant at  Sairmeuse,  Grollet's  son  entered.  '  Is  this 
you,  Jean  ?  '  said  he.  '  I  just  saw  Chupin  hiding  near 
your  sister's  house ;  when  he  observed  me  he  slunk 
away.'  I  ran  here  like  one  crazed.  But  when  fate  is 
against  a  man,  what  can  he  do  ?  I  came  too  late !  " 

The  abbe  reflected  for  a  moment. 

"  Then  you  suppose  that  it  was  Chupin  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  suppose,  sir ;  I  swear  that  it  was  he — the 
miserable  traitor ! — who  committed  this  foul  deed." 

"  Still,  what  motive  could  he  have  had  ?  " 

Jean  burst  into  one  of  those  discordant  laughs  that 
are,  perhaps,  the  most  frightful  signs  of  despair. 

"  You  may  rest  assured  that  the  blood  of  the  daugh- 
ter will  yield  him  a  richer  reward  than  did  the  father's. 
Chupin  has  been  the  vile  instrument ;  but  it  was  not  he 
who  conceived  the  crime.  You  will  have  to  seek  higher 
for  the  culprit,  much  higher,  in  the  finest  chateau  of 
the  country,  in  the  midst  of  an  army  of  valets  at  Sair- 
meuse, in  short !  " 

"  Wretched  man,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  What  I  say." 

And  coldly,  he  added : 

"  Martial  de  Sairmeuse  is  the  assassin." 
3' 


482         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

The  priest  recoiled,  really  appalled  by  the  looks  and 
manner  of  the  grief-stricken  man. 

"  You  are  mad !  "  he  said,  severely. 

But  Jean  gravely  shook  his  head. 

"  If  I  seem  so  to  you,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  it  is  only 
because  you  are  ignorant  of  Martial's  wild  passion  for 
Marie-Anne.  He  wished  to  make  her  his  mistress. 
She  had  the  audacity  to  refuse  this  honor ;  that  was  a 
crime  for  which  she  must  be  punished.  When  the  Mar- 
quis de  Sairmeuse  became  convinced  that  Lacheneur's 
daughter  would  never  be  his,  he  poisoned  her  that  she 
might  not  belong  to  another. 

Any  attempt  to  convince  Jean  of  the  folly  of  his  ac- 
cusation would  have  been  vain  at  that  moment.  No 
proofs  would  have  convinced  him.  He  would  have 
closed  his  eyes  to  all  evidence. 

"To-morrow,  when  he  is  more  calm,  I  will  reason 
with  him,"  thought  the  abbe;  then,  turning  to  Jean,  he 
said: 

"  We  cannot  allow  the  body  of  the  poor  girl  to  re- 
main here  upon  the  floor.  Assist  me,  and  we  will  place 
it  upon  the  bed." 

Jean  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  and  his  hesitation 
was  apparent. 

"  Very  well !  "  he  said,  at  last,  after  a  severe  struggle. 

No  one  had  ever  slept  upon  this  bed  which  poor 
Chanlouineau  had  destined  for  Marie-Anne. 

"  It  shall  be  for  her,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  or  for  no 
one." 

And  it  was  Marie-Anne  who  rested  there  first — 
dead. 

When  this  sad  task  was  accomplished,  he  threw  him- 
self into  the  same  arm-chair  in  which  Marie- Anne  had 
breathed  her  last,  and  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands, 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    483 

and  his  elbows  supported  upon  his  knees,  he  sat  there 
as  silent  and  motionless  as  the  statues  of  sorrow  placed 
above  the  last  resting-places  of  the  dead. 

The  abbe  knelt  at  the  head  of  the  bed  and  began  the 
recital  of  the  prayers  for  the  dead,  entreating  God  to 
grant  peace  and  happiness  in  heaven  to  her  who  had 
suffered  so  much  upon  earth. 

But  he  prayed  only  with  his  lips.  In  spite  of  his 
efforts,  his  mind  would  persist  in  wandering. 

He  was  striving  to  solve  the  mystery  that  enshrouded 
Marie-Anne's  death.  Had  she  been  murdered  ?  Could 
it  be  that  she  had  committed  suicide? 

This  explanation  recurred  to  him,  but  he  could  not 
believe  it. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  how  could  her  death  possibly 
be  the  result  of  a  crime  ? 

He  had  carefully  examined  the  room,  and  he  had 
discovered  nothing  that  betrayed  the  presence  of  a 
stranger. 

All  that  he  could  prove  was,  that  his  vial  of  arsenic 
was  empty,  and  that  Marie-Anne  had  been  poisoned 
by  the  bouillon,  a  few  drops  of  which  were  left  in  the 
bowl  that  was  standing  upon  the  mantel. 

"  When  daylight  comes,"  thought  the  abbe,  "  I  will 
look  outside." 

When  morning  broke,  he  went  into  the  garden,  and 
made  a  careful  examination  of  the  premises. 

At  first  he  saw  nothing  that  gave  him  the  least  clew, 
and  was  about  to  abandon  the  investigations,  when, 
upon  entering  the  little  grove,  he  saw  in  the  distance 
a  large  dark  stain  upon  the  grass.  He  went  nearer — • 
it  was  blood ! 

Much  excited,  he  summoned  Jean,  to  inform  him 
of  the  discovery. 


484        THE   HONOR   OF   THE    NAME 

"  Someone  has  been  assassinated  here,"  said  La- 
cheneur ;  "and  it  happened  last  night,  for  the  blood  has 
not  had  time  to  dry." 

"  The  victim  lost  a  great  deal  of  blood,"  the  priest 
remarked ;  "  it  might  be  possible  to  discover  who  he 
was  by  following  up  these  stains." 

"  I  am  going  to  try,"  responded  Jean.  "  Go  back 
to  the  house,  sir ;  I  will  soon  return." 

A  child  might  have  followed  the  track  of  the  wound- 
ed man,  the  blood-stains  left  in  his  passage  were  so 
frequent  and  so  distinct. 

These  tell-tale  marks  stopped  at  Chupin's  house. 
The  door  was  closed ;  Jean  rapped  without  the  slight- 
est hesitation. 

The  old  poacher's  eldest  son  opened  the  door,  and 
Jean  saw  a  strange  spectacle. 

The  traitor's  body  had  been  thrown  on  the  ground, 
in  a  corner  of  the  room,  the  bed  was  overturned  and 
broken,  all  the  straw  had  been  torn  from  the  mattress, 
and  the  wife  and  sons  of  the  dead  man,  armed  with 
pickaxes  and  spades,  were  wildly  overturning  the 
beaten  soil  that  formed  the  floor  of  the  hovel.  They 
were  seeking  the  hidden  treasures. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  demanded  the  widow,  rudely. 

"  Father  Chupin." 

"  You  can  see  very  plainly  that  he  has  been  mur- 
dered," replied  one  of  the  sons. 

And  brandishing  his  pick  a  few  inches  from  Jean's 
head,  he  exclaimed : 

"  And  you,  perhaps,  are  the  assassin.  But  that  is 
for  justice  to  determine.  Now,  decamp;  if  you  do 
not " 

Had  he  listened  to  the  promptings  of  anger,  Jean 
Lacheneur  would  certainly  have  attempted  to  make 
the  Chupins  repent  their  menaces. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   485 

But  a  conflict  was  scarcely  permissible  under  the 
circumstances. 

He  departed  without  a  word,  and  hastened  back  to 
the  Borderie. 

The  death  of  Chupin  overturned  all  his  plans,  and 
greatly  irritated  him. 

"  I  had  sworn  that  the  vile  wretch  who  betrayed 
my  father  should  perish  by  my  hand,"  he  murmured  ; 
"  and  now  my  vengeance  has  escaped  me.  Someone 
has  robbed  me  of  it." 

Then  he  asked  himself  who  the  murderer  could  be. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  Martial  assassinated  Chupin  after 
he  murdered  Marie- Anne?  To  kill  an  accomplice  is 
an  effectual  way  of  assuring  one's  self  of  his  silence." 

He  had  reached  the  Borderie,  and  was  about  going 
upstairs,  when  he  thought  he  heard  the  sound  of  voices 
in  the  back  room. 

"  That  is  strange,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Who  can 
it  be?" 

And  impelled  by  curiosity,  he  went  and  tapped  upon 
the  communicating  door. 

The  abbe  instantly  made  his  appearance,  hurriedly 
closing  the  door  behind  him.  He  was  very  pale,  and 
visibly  agitated. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  inquired  Jean,  eagerly. 

"  It  is — it  is.     Guess  who  it  is." 

"  How  can  I  guess  ?  " 

"  Maurice  d'Escorval  and  Corporal  Bavois." 

"My  God!" 

"  And  it  is  a  miracle  that  he  has  not  been  upstairs." 

"  But  whence  does  he  come  ?  Why  have  we  received 
no  news  of  him  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  He  has  been  here  only  five  min- 
utes. Poor  boy !  after  I  told  him  that  his  father  was 


486        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

safe,  his  first  words  were :  '  And  Marie- Anne  ? '  He 
loves  her  more  devotedly  than  ever.  He  comes  with 
his  heart  full  of  her,  confident  and  hopeful;  and  I 
tremble — I  fear  to  tell  him  the  truth." 

"  Oh,  terrible !  terrible !  " 

"  I  have  warned  you ;  be  prudent — and  now,  come 
in." 

They  entered  the  room  together;  and  Maurice  and 
the  old  soldier  greeted  Jean  with  the  most  ardent  ex- 
pressions of  friendship. 

They  had  not  seen  each  other  since  the  duel  on  the 
Reche,  which  had  been  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  the 
soldiers ;  and  when  they  parted  that  day  they  scarcely 
expected  to  meet  again. 

"  And  now  we  are  together  once  more,"  said  Mau- 
rice, gayly,  "  and  we  have  nothing  to  fear." 

/Never  had  the  unfortunate  man  seemed  so  cheerful  ; 
and  it  was  with  the  most  jubilant  air  that  he  explained 
the  reason  of  his  long  silence. 

"  Three  days  after  we  crossed  the  frontier,"  said  he, 
"  Corporal  Bavois  and  I  reached  Turin.  It  was  time, 
for  we  were  tired  out.  We  went  to  a  small  inn,  and 
they  gave  us  a  room  with  two  beds. 

"  That  evening,  while  we  were  undressing,  the  cor- 
poral said  to  me :  '  I  am  capable  of  sleeping  two  whole 
days  without  waking.'  I,  too,  promised  myself  a  rest 
of  at  least  twelve  hours.  We  reckoned  without  our 
host,  as  you  will  see. 

"  It  was  scarcely  daybreak  when  we  were  awakened 
by  a  great  tumult.  A  dozen  rough-looking  men  en- 
tered our  room,  and  ordered  us,  in  Italian,  to  dress  our- 
selves. They  were  too  strong  for  us,  so  we  obeyed  ; 
and  an  hour  later  we  were  in  prison,  confined  in  the 
same  cell.  Our  reflections,  I  confess,  were  not  couleur 
de  rose. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    487 

"  I  well  remember  how  the  corporal  said  again  and 
again,  in  that  cool  way  of  his :  '  It  will  require  four  days 
to  obtain  our  extradition,  three  days  to  take  us  back  to 
Montaignac — that  is  seven  days ;  it  will  take  one  day 
more  to  try  me ;  so  I  have  in  all  eight  days  to  live." 

"  Upon  my  word !  that  was  exactly  what  I  thought," 
said  the  old  soldier,  approvingly. 

"  For  five  months,"  continued  Maurice,  "  instead  of 
saying  '  good-night '  to  each  other,  we  said :  '  To-mor- 
row they  will  come  for  us.'  But  they  did  not  come. 

"  We  were  kindly  treated.  They  did  not  take  away 
my  money ;  and  they  willingly  sold  us  little  luxuries ; 
they  also  granted  us  two  hours  of  exercise  each  day  in 
the  court-yard,  and  even  loaned  us  books  to  read.  In 
short,  I  should  not  have  had  any  particular  cause  to 
complain,  if  I  had  been  allowed  to  receive  or  to  for- 
ward letters,  or  if  I  had  been  able  to  communicate  with 
my  father  or  with  Marie-Anne.  But  we  were  in  the 
secret  cells,  and  were  not  allowed  to  have  any  inter- 
course with  the  other  prisoners. 

"  At  length  our  detention  seemed  so  strange  and  be- 
came so  insupportable  to  us,  that  we  resolved  to  obtain 
some  explanation  of  it,  cost  what  it  might. 

"  We  changed  our  tactics.  Up  to  that  time  we  had 
been  quite  submissive;  we  suddenly  became  violent 
and  intractable.  We  made  the  prison  resound  with  our 
cries  and  protestations;  we  were  continually  sending 
for  the  superintendent ;  we  claimed  the  intervention  of 
the  French  ambassador.  We  were  not  obliged  to  wait 
long  for  the  result. 

"  One  fine  afternoon,  the  superintendent  released 
us,  not  without  expressing  much  regret  at  being  de- 
prived of  the  society  of  such  amiable  and  charming 
guests. 


488         THE   HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

"  Our  first  act,  as  you  may  suppose,  was  to  run  to 
the  ambassador.  We  did  not  see  that  dignitary,  but 
his  secretary  received  us.  He  knit  his  brows  when  I 
told  my  story,  and  became  excessively  grave.  I  re- 
member each  word  of  his  reply. 

"  '  Monsieur,'  said  he, '  I  can  swear  that  the  persecu- 
tion of  which  you  have  been  the  object  in  France  had 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  your  detention  here.' 

"  And  as  I  expressed  my  astonishment : 

"  '  One  moment,'  he  added.  '  I  shall  express  my 
opinion  very  frankly.  One  of  your  enemies — I  leave 
you  to  discover  which  one — must  exert  a  very  power- 
ful influence  in  Turin.  You  were  in  his  way,  perhaps : 
he  had  you  imprisoned  by  the  Piedmontese  police. ' ; 

With  a  heavy  blow  of  his  clinched  fist,  Jean  Lache- 
neur  made  the  table  beside  him  reel. 

"  Ah !  the  secretary  was  right !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Maurice,  it  was  Martial  de  Sairmeuse  who  caused 
your  arrest " 

"  Or  the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu,"  interrupted  the 
abbe,  with  a  warning  glance  at  Jean. 

A  wrathful  light  gleamed  for  an  instant  in  the  eyes 
of  Maurice ;  but  it  vanished  almost  immediately,  and 
he  shrugged  his  shoulders  carelessly. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  he,  "  I  do  not  wish  to  trouble  my- 
self any  more  about  the  past.  My  father  is  well  again, 
that  is  the  main  thing.  We  can  easily  find  some  way 
of  getting  him  safely  across  the  frontier.  Marie-Anne 
and  I,  by  our  devotion,  will  strive  to  make  him  forget 
that  my  rashness  almost  cost  him  his  life.  He  is  so 
good,  so  indulgent  to  the  faults  of  others.  We  will 
take  up  our  residence  in  Italy  or  in  Switzerland.  You 
will  accompany  us,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  and  you  also, 
Jean.  As  for  you,  corporal,  it  is  decided  that  you  be- 
long to  our  family." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    489 

Nothing  could  be  more  horrible  than  to  see  this  man, 
upon  whose  life  such  a  terrible  blight  was  about  to  fall, 
so  bright  and  full  of  hope  and  confidence. 

The  impression  produced  upon  Jean  and  the  abbe 
was  so  terrible,  that,  in  spite  of  their  efforts,  it  showed 
itself  in  their  faces  ;  and  Maurice  remarked  their  agita- 
tion. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  he  inquired,  in  evident  sur- 
prise. 

They  trembled,  hung  their  heads,  but  did  not  say  a 
word. 

The  unfortunate  man's  astonishment  changed  to  a 
vague,  inexpressible  fear. 

He  enumerated  all  the  misfortunes  which  could  pos- 
sibly have  befallen  him. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  stifled  voice. 
"  My  'father  is  safe,  is  he  not  ?  You  said  that  my 
mother  would  desire  nothing,  if  I  were  with  her  again. 
Is  it  Marie-Anne " 

He  hesitated. 

"  Courage,  Maurice,"  murmured  the  abbe.  "  Cour- 
age!" 

The  stricken  man  tottered  as  if  about  to  fall ;  his  face 
grew  whiter  than  the  plastered  wall  against  which  he 
leaned  for  support. 

"  Marie- Anne  is  dead !  "  he  exclaimed. 

Jean  and  the  abbe  were  silent. 

"  Dead !  "  Maurice  repeated — "  and  no  secret  voice 
warned  me !  Dead !  when  ?  " 

"  vShe  died  only  last  night,"  replied  Jean. 

Maurice  rose. 

"  Last  night  ?  "  said  he.  "  In  that  case,  then,  she  is 
still  here.  Where  ?  upstairs  ?  " 

And  without  waiting  for  any  response,  he  darted 


490         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

toward  the  staircase  so  quickly  that  neither  Jean  nor 
the  abbe  had  time  to  intercept  him. 

With  three  bounds  he  reached  the  chamber ;  he 
walked  straight  to  the  bed,  and  with  a  firm  hand  turned 
back  the  sheet  that  hid  the  face  of  the  dead. 

He  recoiled  with  a  heart-broken  cry. 

Was  this  indeed  the  beautiful,  the  radiant  Marie- 
Anne,  whom  he  had  loved  to  his  own  undoing!  He 
did  not  recognize  her. 

He  could  not  recognize  these  distorted  features,  this 
face  swollen  and  discolored  by  poison,  these  eyes  which 
were  almost  concealed  by  the  purple  swelling  around 
them. 

When  Jean  and  the  priest  entered  the  room  they 
found  him  standing  with  head  thrown  back,  eyes  di- 
lated with  terror,  and  rigid  arm  extended  toward  the 
corpse. 

"  Maurice,"  said  the  priest,  gently,  "  be  calm.  Cour- 
age!" 

He  turned  with  an  expression  of  complete  bewilder- 
ment upon  his  features. 

"  Yes,"  he  faltered,  "  that  is  what  I  need — courage !  " 

He  staggered ;  they  were  obliged  to  support  him  to 
an  arm-chair. 

"  Be  a  man,"  continued  the  priest ;  "  where  is  your 
energy?  To  live,  is  to  suffer." 

He  listened,  but  did  not  seem  to  comprehend. 

"  Live !  "  he  murmured,  "  why  should  I  desire  to  live 
since  she  is  dead  ?  " 

The  dread  light  of  insanity  glittered  in  his  dry  eyes. 
The  abbe  was  alarmed. 

"  If  he  does  not  weep,  he  will  lose  his  reason !  "  he 
thought. 

And  in  an  imperious  voice,  he  said : 


He  recoiled  with  a  heart-broken  cry. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    491 

"  You  have  no  right  to  despair  thus ;  you  owe  a, 
sacred  duty  to  your  child." 

The  recollection  which  had  given  Marie-Anne 
strength  to  hold  death  at  bay  for  a  moment,  saved  Mau- 
rice from  the  dangerous  torpor  into  which  he  was 
sinking.  He  trembled  as  if  he  had  received  an  electric 
shock,  and  springing  from  his  chair : 

"  That  is  true,"  he  cried.     "  Take  me  to  my  child." 

"  Not  just  now,  Maurice ;  wait  a  little." 

"  Where  is  it  ?     Tell  me  where  it  is." 

"  I  cannot ;  I  do  not  know." 

An  expression  of  unspeakable  anguish  stole  over  the 
face  of  Maurice,  and  in  a  husky  voice  he  said : 

"  What !  you  do  not  know !  Did  she  not  confide  in 
you?" 

"  No.     I  suspected  her  secret.     I  alone " 

"  You,  alone!  Then  the  child  is  dead,  perhaps. 
Even  if  it  is  living,  who  can  tell  me  where  it  is  ?  " 

"  We  shall  undoubtedly  find  something  that  will 
give  us  a  clew." 

"  You  are  right,"  faltered  the  wretched  man. 
"  When  Marie-Anne  knew  that  her  life  was  in  danger, 
she  would  not  have  forgotten  her  child.  Those  who 
cared  for  her  in  her  last  moments  must  have  received 
some  message  for  me.  I  wish  to  see  those  who 
watched  over  her.  Who  were  they  ?  " 

The  priest  averted  his  face. 

"  I  asked  you  who  was  with  her  when  she  died,"  re- 
peated Maurice,  in  a  sort  of  frenzy. 

And,  as  the  abbe  remained  silent,  a  terrible  light 
dawned  on  the  mind  of  the  stricken  man.  He  under- 
stood the  cause  of  Marie-Anne's  distorted  features 
now. 

"  She  perished  the  victim  of  a  crime !  "  he  exclaimed. 


492         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  Some  monster  has  killed  her.  If  she  died  such  a 
death,  our  child  is  lost  forever!  And  it  was  I  who 
recommended,  who  commanded  the  greatest  precau- 
tions !  Ah !  it  is  a  curse  upon  me !  " 

He  sank  back  in  his  chair,  overwhelmed  with  sorrow 
and  remorse,  and  silent  tears  rolled  slowly  down  his 
cheeks. 

"  He  is  saved !  "  thought  the  abbe,  whose  heart  bled 
at  the  sight  of  such  despair.  Suddenly  someone 
plucked  him  by  the  sleeve. 

It  was  Jean  Lacheneur,  and  he  drew  the  priest  into 
the  embrasure  of  a  window. 

"  What  is  this  about  a  child  ?  "  he  asked,  harshly. 

A  flood  of  crimson  suffused  the  brow  of  the  priest. 

"  You  have  heard,"  he  responded,  laconically. 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  Marie-Anne  was  the  mis- 
tress of  Maurice,  and  that  she  had  a  child  by  him  ?  Is 
this  true  ?  I  will  not — I  cannot  believe  it !  She, 
whom  I  revered  as  a  saint!  Did  her  pure  forehead 
and  her  chaste  looks  lie?  And  he — Maurice — he  whom 
I  loved  as  a  brother!  So,  his  friendship  was  only  a 
mask  assumed  to  enable  him  to  steal  our  honor ! " 

He  hissed  these  words  through  his  set  teeth  in  such 
low  tones  that  Maurice,  absorbed  in  his  agony  of  grief, 
did  not  overhear  him. 

"  But  how  did  she  conceal  her  shame  ?  "  he  contin- 
ued. "  No  one  suspected  it — absolutely  no  one.  And 
what  has  she  done  with  her  child?  Appalled  by  a 
dread  of  disgrace,  did  she  commit  the  crime  committed 
by  so  many  other  ruined  and  forsaken  women?  Did 
she  murder  her  own  child  ?  " 

A  hideous  smile  curved  his  thin  lips. 

"  If  the  child  is  alive,"  he  added,  "  I  will  find  it,  and 
Maurice  shall  be  punished  for  his  perfidy  as  he  de- 
serves." 


493 

He  paused ;  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  upon  the  road 
attracted  his  attention,  and  that  of  Abbe  Midon. 

They  glanced  out  of  the  window  and  saw  a  horseman 
stop  before  the  little  footpath,  alight  from  his  horse, 
throw  the  reins  to  his  groom,  and  advance  toward  the 
Borderie. 

At  the  sight  of  the  visitor,  Jean  Lacheneur  uttered 
the  frightful  howl  of  an  infuriated  wild  beast. 

"  The  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  here  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

He  sprang  to  Maurice,  and  shaking  him  violently, 
he  cried : 

"  Up !  here  is  Martial,  Marie- Anne's  murderer ! 
Up !  he  is  coming !  he  is  at  our  mercy !  " 

Maurice  sprang  up  in  a  fury  of  passion,  but  the  abbe 
darted  to  the  door  and  intercepted  the  infuriated  men 
as  they  were  about  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Not  a  word,  young  men,  not  a  threat !  "  he  said, 
imperiously.  "  I  forbid  it.  At  least  respect  the  dead 
who  is  lying  here  !  " 

There  was  such  an  irresistible  authority  in  his  words 
and  glance,  that  Jean  and  Maurice  stood  as  if  turned 
to  stone. 

Before  the  priest  had  time  to  say  more,  Martial  was 
there. 

He  did  not  cross  the  threshold.  With  a  glance  he 
took  in  the  whole  scene ;  he  turned  very  pale,  but  not 
a  gesture,  not  a  word  escaped  his  lips. 

Wonderful  as  was  his  accustomed  control  over  him- 
self, he  could  not  articulate  a  syllable ;  and  it  was  only 
by  pointing  to  the  bed  upon  which  Marie-Anne's  life- 
less form  was  reposing,  that  he  asked  an  explanation. 

"  She  was  infamously  poisoned  last  evening,"  replied 
the  abbe,  sadly. 

Maurice,  forgetting  the  priest's  commands,  stepped 
forward. 


494         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  She  was  alone  and  defenceless.  I  have  been  at  lib- 
erty only  two  days.  But  I  know  the  name  of  the  man 
who  had  me  arrested  at  Turin,  and  thrown  into  prison. 
They  told  me  the  coward's  name !  " 

Instinctively  Martial  recoiled. 

"  It  was  you,  infamous  wretch !  "  exclaimed  Mau- 
rice. "  You  confess  your  guilt,  scoundrel  ?  " 

Once  again  the  abbe  interposed ;  he  threw  himself 
between  the  rivals,  persuaded  that  Martial  was  about 
to  attack  Maurice. 

But  no ;  the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  had  resumed  the 
haughty  and  indifferent  manner  which  was  habitual  to 
him.  He  took  from  his  pocket  a  bulky  envelope,  and 
throwing  it  upon  the  table : 

"  Here,"  he  said  coldly,  "  is  what  I  was  bringing  to 
Mademoiselle  Lacheneur.  It  contains  first  a  safe- 
conduct  from  His  Majesty  for  Monsieur  d'Escorval. 
From  this  moment,  he  is  at  liberty  to  leave  Poignot's 
farm-house  and  return  to  Escorval.  He  is  free,  he  is 
saved,  he  is  granted  a  new  trial,  and  there  can  be  no 
doubt  of  his  acquittal.  Here  is  also  a  decree  of  his 
non-complicity  rendered  in  favor  of  Abbe  Midon,  and 
an  order  from  the  bishop  which  reinstates  him  as  Cure 
of  Sairmeuse ;  and  lastly,  a  discharge,  drawn  up  in  due 
form,  and  an  acknowledged  right  to  a  pension  in  the 
name  of  Corporal  Bavois." 

He  paused,  and  as  his  astonished  hearers  stood 
rooted  to  their  places  with  wonder,  he  turned  and  ap- 
proached Marie-Anne's  bedside. 

With  hand  uplifted  to  heaven  over  the  lifeless  form 
of  her  whom  he  had  loved,  and  in  a  voice  that  would 
have  made  the  murderess  tremble  in  her  innermost 
soul,  he  said,  solemnly: 

"  To  you,  Marie-Anne,  I  swear  that  I  will  avenge 
you!" 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    495 

For  a  few  seconds  he  stood  motionless,  then  sud- 
denly he  stopped,  pressed  a  kiss  upon  the  dead  girl's 
brow,  and  left  the  room. 

"  And  you  think  that  man  can  be  guilty !  "  exclaimed 
the  abbe.  "  You  see,  Jean,  that  you  are  mad !  " 

"  And  this  last  insult  to  my  dead  sister  is  an  honor, 
I  suppose,"  said  Jean,  with  a  furious  gesture. 

"  And  the  wretch  binds  my  hands  by  saving  my 
father !  "  exclaimed  Maurice. 

From  his  place  by  the  window,  the  abbe  saw  Martial 
remount  his  horse. 

But  the  marquis  did  not  take  the  road  to  Mon- 
taignac.  It  was  toward  the  Chateau  de  Courtornieu 
that  he  hastened. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII 

The  reason  of  Mme.  'Blanche  had  sustained  a  fright- 
ful shock,  when  Chupin  was  obliged  to  lift  her  and 
carry  her  from  Marie-Anne's  chamber. 

But  she  lost  consciousness  entirely  when  she  saw  the 
old  poacher  stricken  down  by  her  side. 

On  and  after  that  night  Aunt  Medea  took  her  re- 
venge for  all  the  slights  she  had  received. 

Scarcely  tolerated  until  then,  at  Courtornieu,  she 
henceforth  made  herself  respected,  and  even  feared. 

She,  who  usually  swooned  if  a  kitten  hurt  itself,  did 
not  utter  a  cry.  Her  extreme  fear  gave  her  the  courage 
that  not  unfrequently  animates  cowards  when  they  are 
in  some  dire  extremity. 

She  seized  the  arm  of  her  bewildered  niece,  and,  by 
dint  of  dragging  and  pushing,  had  her  back  at  the 
chateau  in  much  less  time  than  it  had  taken  them  to  go 
to  the  Borderie. 


496         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

It  was  half-past  one  o'clock  when  they  reached  the 
little  garden-gate,  by  which  they  had  left  the  grounds. 

No  one  in  the  chateau  was  aware  of  their  long  ab- 
sence. 

This  was  due  to  several  different  circumstances. 
First,  to  the  precautions  taken  by  Blanche,  who  had 
given  orders,  before  going  out,  that  no  one  should 
come  to  her  room,  on  any  pretext  whatever,  unless  she 
rang. 

It  also  chanced  to  be  the  birthday  of  the  marquis's 
valet  de  chambre.  The  servants  had  dined  more  sumpt- 
uously than  usual.  They  had  toasts  and  songs  over 
their  dessert ;  and  at  the  conclusion  of  the  repast,  they 
amused  themselves  by  an  extempore  ball. 

They  were  still  dancing  at  half-past  one;  all  the 
doors  were  open,  and  the  two  ladies  succeeded  in  gain- 
ing the  chamber  of  Blanche  without  being  observed. 

When  the  doors  of  the  apartment  had  been  securely 
closed,  and  when  there  was  no  longer  any  fear  of  lis- 
teners, Aunt  Medea  attacked  her  niece. 

"  Now  will  you  explain  what  happened  at  the  Bor- 
derie ;  and  what  you  were  doing  there  ?  "  she  inquired. 

Blanche  shuddered. 

"  Why  do  you  wish  to  know?  "  she  asked. 

"  Because  I  suffered  agony  during  the  three  hours 
that  I  spent  in  waiting  for  you.  What  was  the  mean- 
ing of  those  despairing  cries  that  I  heard  ?  Why  did 
you  call  fpr  aid  ?  I  heard  a  death-rattle  that  made  my 
hair  stand  on  end  with  terror.  Why  was  it  necessary 
for  Chupin  to  bring  you  out  in  his  arms  ?  " 

Aunt  Medea  would  have  packed  her  trunks,  per- 
haps, that  very  evening,  had  she  seen  the  glance  which 
her  niece  bestowed  upon  her. 

Blanche  longed  for  power  to  annihilate  this  relative 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    497 

— this  witness  who  might  ruin  her  by  a  word,  but 
whom  she  would  ever  have  beside  her,  a  living  re- 
proach for  her  crime. 

"  You  do  not  answer  me,"  insisted  Aunt  Medea. 

Blanche  was  trying  to  decide  whether  it  would  be 
better  for  her  to  reveal  the  truth,  horrible  as  it  was,  or 
to  invent  some  plausible  explanation. 

To  confess  all !  It  would  be  intolerable.  She  would 
place  herself,  body  and  soul,  in  Aunt  Medea's  power. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  she  deceived  her,  was  it 
not  more  than  probable  that  her  aunt  would  betray  her 
by  some  involuntary  exclamation  when  she  heard  of 
the  crime  which  had  been  committed  at  the  Borderie  ? 

"  For  she  is  so  stupid !  "  thought  Blanche. 

She  felt  that  it  would  be  the  wisest  plan,  under  such 
circumstances,  to  be  perfectly  frank,  to  teach  her  rela- 
tive her  lesson,  and  to  imbue  her  with  some  of  her  own 
firmness. 

Having  come  to  this  conclusion,  she  disdained  all 
concealment. 

"  Ah,  well !  "  she  said,  "  I  was  jealous  of  Marie- Anne. 
I  thought  she  was  Martial's  mistress.  I  was  half 
crazed,  and  I  killed  her." 

She  expected  despairing  cries,  or  a  fainting  fit ;  noth- 
ing of  the  kind.  Stupid  though  Aunt  Medea  was,  she 
had  divined  the  truth  before  she  interrogated  her  niece. 
Besides,  the  insults  she  had  received  for  years  had  ex- 
tinguished every  generous  sentiment,  dried  up  the 
springs  of  emotion,  and  destroyed  every  particle  of 
moral  sensibility  she  had  ever  possessed. 

"  Ah !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  it  is  terrible !  What  if  it 
should  be  discovered  !  " 

Then  she  shed  a  few  tears,  but  not  more  than  she 
had  often  wept  for  some  trifle. 
32 


49«        THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

Blanche  breathed  more  freely.  Surely  she  could 
count  upon  the  silence  and  absolute  submission  of  her 
dependent  relative.  Convinced  of  this,  she  began  to 
recount  all  the  details  of  the  frightful  drama  which  had 
been  enacted  at  the  Borderie. 

She  yielded  to  a  desire  which  was  stronger  than  her 
own  will ;  to  the  wild  longing  that  sometimes  unbinds 
the  tongue  of  the  worst  criminals,  and  forces  them — 
irresistibly  impels  them — to  talk  of  their  crimes,  even 
when  they  distrust  their  confidant. 

But  when  she  came  to  the  proofs  which  had  con- 
vinced her  of  her  lamentable  mistake,  she  suddenly 
paused  in  dismay. 

That  certificate  of  marriage  signed  by  the  Cure  of 
Vigano:  what  had  she  done  with  it?  where  was  it? 
She  remembered  holding  it  in  her  hands. 

She  sprang  up,  examined  the  pocket  of  her  dress  and 
uttered  a  cry  of  joy.  She  had  it  safe.  She  threw  it  into 
a  drawer,  and  turned  the  key. 

Aunt  Medea  wished  to  retire  to  her  own  room,  but 
Blanche  entreated  her  to  remain.  She  was  unwilling 
to  be  left  alone — she  dared  not — she  was  afraid. 

And  as  if  she  desired  to  silence  the  inward  voice  that 
tormented  her,  she  talked  with  extreme  volubility,  re- 
peating again  and  again  that  she  was  ready  to  do  any- 
thing in  expiation  of  her  crime,  and  that  she  would 
brave  impossibilities  to  recover  Marie-Anne's  child. 

And  certainly,  the  task  was  both  difficult  and  dan- 
gerous. 

If  she  sought  the  child  openly,  it  would  be  equiva- 
lent to  a  confession  of  guilt.  She  would  be  compelled 
to  act  secretly,  and  with  great  caution. 

"  But  I  shall  succeed,"  she  said.  "  I  will  spare  no 
expense." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    499 

And  remembering  her  vow,  and  the  threats  of  her 
dying  victim,  she  added : 

"  I  must  succeed.  I  have  sworn — and  I  was  for- 
given under  those  conditions." 

Astonishment  dried  the  ever-ready  tears  of  Aunt 
Medea. 

That  her  niece,  with  her  dreadful  crime  still  fresh  in 
her  mind,  could  coolly  reason,  deliberate,  and  make 
plans  for  the  future,  seemed  to  her  incomprehensible. 

"  What  an  iron  will !  "  she  thought.          * 

But  in  her  bewilderment  she  quite  overlooked  some- 
thing that  would  have  enlightened  any  ordinary  ob- 
server. 

Blanche  was  seated  upon  her  bed,  her  hair  was  un- 
bound, her  eyes  were  glittering  with  delirium,  and  her 
incoherent  words  and  her  excited  gestures  betrayed 
the  frightful  anxiety  that  was  torturing  her. 

And  she  talked  and  talked,  exclaiming,  questioning 
Aunt  Medea,  and  forcing  her  to  reply,  only  that  she 
might  escape  from  her  own  thoughts. 

Morning  had  dawned  some  time  before,  and  the  ser- 
vants were  heard  bustling  about  the  chateau,  and 
Blanche,  oblivious  to  all  around  her,  was  still  explain- 
ing how  she  could,  in  less  than  a  year,  restore  Marie- 
Anne's  child  to  Maurice  d'Escorval. 

She  paused  abruptly  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence. 

Instinct  had  suddenly  warned  her  of  the  danger  she 
incurred  in  making  the  slightest  change  in  her  habits. 

She  sent  Aunt  Medea  away,  then,  at  the  usual  hour, 
rang  for  her  maid. 

It  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock,  and  she  was  just  com- 
pleting her  toilet,  when  the  ringing  of  the  bell  an- 
nounced a  visitor. 

Almost  immediately  a  maid  appeared,  evidently  in 
a  state  of  great  excitement. 


5oo         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  inquired  Blanche,  eagerly.  "  Who 
has  come?  " 

"  Ah,  Madame — that  is,  Mademoiselle,  if  you  only 
knew " 

"Will  you  speak?" 

"  The  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  is  below,  in  the  blue 
drawing-room ;  and  he  begs  Mademoiselle  to  grant 
him  a  few  moments'  conversation." 

Had  a  thunder-bolt  riven  the  earth  at  the  feet  of  the 
murderess* she  could  not  have  been  more  terrified. 

"  All  must  have  been  discovered  !  "  this  was  her  first 
thought.  That  alone  would  have  brought  Martial 
there. 

She  almost  decided  to  reply  that  she  was  not  at  home, 
or  that  she  was  extremely  ill ;  but  reason  told  her  that 
she  was  alarming  herself  needlessly,  perhaps,  and  that, 
in  any  case,  the  worst  was  preferable  to  suspense. 

"  Tell  the  marquis  that  I  will  be  there  in  a  moment," 
she  replied. 

She  desired  a  few  minutes  of  solitude  to  compose  her 
features,  to  regain  her  self-possession,  if  possible,  and 
to  conquer  the  nervous  trembling  that  made  her  shake 
like  a  leaf. 

But  just  as  she  was  most  disquieted  by  the  thought 
of  her  peril,  a  sudden  inspiration  brought  a  malicious 
smile  to  her  lip. 

"  Ah !  "  she  thought,  "  my  agitation  will  seem  per- 
fectly natural.  It  may  even  be  made  of  service." 

As  she  descended  the  grand  staircase,  she  could  not 
help  saying  to  herself  : 

"  Martial's  presence  here  is  incomprehensible." 

It  was  certainly  very  extraordinary ;  and  it  had  not 
been  without  much  hesitation  that  he  resolved  upon  this 
painful  step. 


But  it  was  the  only  means  of  procuring  several  im- 
portant documents  which  were  indispensable  in  the 
revision  of  M.  d'Escorval's  case. 

These  documents,  after  the  baron's  condemnation, 
had  been  left  in  the  hands  of  the  Marquis  de  Courtor- 
nieu.  Now  that  he  had  lost  his  reason,  it  was  impos- 
sible to  ask  him  for  them ;  and  Martial  was  obliged  to 
apply  to  the  daughter  for  permission  to  search  for  them 
among  her  father's  papers. 

This  was  why  Martial  said  to  himself  that  morning: 

"  I  will  carry  the  baron's  safe-conduct  to  Marie- 
Anne,  and  then  I  will  push  on  to  Courtornieu." 

He  arrived  at  the  Borderie  gay  and  confident,  his 
heart  full  of  hope.  Alas  !  Marie-Anne  was  dead. 

No  one  would  ever  know  what  a  terrible  blow  it  had 
been  to  Martial ;  and  his  conscience  told  him  that  he 
was  not  free  from  blame  ;  that  he  had,  at  least,  rendered 
the  execution  of  the  crime  an  easy  matter. 

For  it  was  indeed  he  who,  by  abusing  his  influence, 
had  caused  the  arrest  of  Maurice  at  Turin. 

But  though  he  was  capable  of  the  basest  perfidy 
when  his  love  was  at  stake,  he  was  incapable  of  viru- 
lent animosity. 

Marie- Anne  was  dead ;  he  had  it  in  his  power  to  re- 
voke the  benefits  he  had  conferred,  but  the  thought  of 
doing  so  never  once  occurred  to  him.  And  when  Jean 
and  Maurice  insulted  him,  he  revenged  himself  only  by 
overwhelming  them  by  his  magnanimity.  When  he 
left  the  Borderie,  pale  as  a  ghost,  his  lips  still  cold  from 
the  kiss  pressed  on  the  brow  of  the  dead,  he  said  to 
himself : 

"  For  her  sake,  I  will  go  to  Courtornieu.  In  mem- 
ory of  her,  the  baron  must  be  saved." 

By  the  expression  on  the  faces  of  the  valets  when 


502         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

he  dismounted  in  the  court-yard  of  the  chateau  and 
asked  to  see  Mme.  Blanche,  the  marquis  was  again  re- 
minded of  the  profound  sensation  which  this  unex- 
pected visit  would  produce.  But,  what  did  it  matter 
to  him?  He  was  passing  through  one  of  those  crises 
in  which  the  mind  can  conceive  of  no  further  mis- 
fortune, and  is  therefore  indifferent  to  everything. 

Still  he  trembled  when  they  ushered  him  into  the  blue 
drawing-room.  He  remembered  the  room  well.  It 
was  here  that  Blanche  had  been  wont  to  receive  him  in 
days  gone  by,  when  his  fancy  was  vacillating  between 
her  and  Marie-Anne. 

How  many  pleasant  hours  they  had  passed  together 
here !  He  seemed  to  see  Blanche  again,  as  she  was 
then,  radiant  with  youth,  gay  and  laughing.  Her 
naivete  was  affected,  perhaps,  but  was  it  any  the  less 
charming  on  that  account  ? 

At  this  very  moment  Blanche  entered  the  room.  She 
looked  so  careworn  and  sad  that  he  scarcely  knew  her. 
His  heart  was  touched  by  the  look  of  patient  sorrow 
imprinted  upon  her  features. 

"  How  much  you  must  have  suffered,  Blanche,"  he 
murmured,  scarcely  knowing  what  he  said. 

It  cost  her  an  effort  to  repress  her  secret  joy.  She 
saw  that  he  knew  nothing  of  her  crime.  She  noticed 
his  emotion,  and  saw  the  profit  she  could  derive  from 
it. 

"  I  can  never  cease  to  regret  having  displeased  you," 
she  replied,  humbly  and  sadly.  "  I  shall  never  be  con- 
soled." 

She  had  touched  the  vulnerable  spot  in  every  man's 
heart. 

For  there  is  no  man  so  sceptical,  so  cold,  or  so  blase 
that  his  vanity  is  not  pleased  with  the  thought  that  a 
woman  is  dying  for  his  sake. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    5°3 

There  is  no  man  who  is  not  moved  by  this  most  de- 
licious flattery,  and  who  is  not  ready  and  willing  to 
give,  at  least,  a  tender  pity  in  exchange  for  such  devo- 
tion. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  could  forgive  me  ?  "  stam- 
mered Martial. 

The  wily  enchantress  averted  her  face  as  if  to  pre- 
vent him  from  reading  in  her  eyes  a  weakness  of  which 
she  was  ashamed.  It  was  the  most  eloquent  of  replies. 

But  Martial  said  no  more  on  this  subject.  He  made 
known  his  petition,  which  was  granted,  then  fearing, 
perhaps,  to  promise  too  much,  he  said : 

"  Since  you  do  not  forbid  it,  Blanche,  I  will  return — 
to-morrow — another  day." 

As  he  rode  back  to  Montaignac,  Martial's  thoughts 
were  busy. 

"  She  really  loves  me,"  he  thought ;  "  that  pallor, 
that  weakness  could  not  be  feigned.  Poor  girl !  she  is 
my  wife,  after  all.  The  reasons  that  influenced  me  in 
my  rupture  with  her  father  exist  no  longer,  and  the 
Marquis  de  Courtornieu  may  be  regarded  as  dead." 

All  the  inhabitants  of  Sairmeuse  were  congregated 
on  the  public  square  when  Martial  passed  through  the 
village.  They  had  just  heard  of  the  murder  at  the  Bor- 
derie,  and  the  abbe  was  now  closeted  with  the  justice  of 
the  peace,  relating  the  circumstances  of  the  poisoning. 

After  a  prolonged  inquest  the  following  verdict  was 
rendered :    "  That  a  man  known  as  Chupin,  a  notori- 
ously bad  character,  had  entered  the  house  of  Marie-' 
Anne  Lacheneur,  and  taken  advantage  of  her  absence 
to  mingle  poison  with  her  food." 

The  report  added  that :  "  Said  Chupin  had  been  him- 
self assassinated,  soon  after  his  crime,  by  a  certain  Bal- 
stain,  whose  whereabouts  were  unknown." 


5o4        THE   HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

But  this  affair  interested  the  community  much  less 
than  the  visits  which  Martial  was  paying  to  Mme. 
Blanche. 

It  was  soon  rumored  that  the  Marquis  and  the  Mar- 
quise de  Sairmeuse  were  reconciled,  and  in  a  few  weeks 
they  left  for  Paris  with  the  intention  of  residing  there 
permanently.  A  few  days  after  their  departure,  the 
eldest  of  the  Chupins  announced  his  determination  of 
taking  up  his  abode  in  the  same  great  city. 

Some  of  his  friends  endeavored  to  dissuade  him,  as- 
suring him  that  he  would  certainly  die  of  starvation. 

"  Nonsense !  "  he  replied,  with  singular  assurance  ; 
"  I,  on  the  contrary,  have  an  idea  that  I  shall  not  want 
for  anything  there." 


CHAPTER   XLIX 

Time  gradually  heals  all  wounds,  and  in  less  than  a 
year  it  was  difficult  to  discern  any  trace  of  the  fierce 
whirlwind  of  passion  which  had  devastated  the  peaceful 
valley  of  the  Oiselle. 

What  remained  to  attest  the  reality  of  all  these 
events,  which,  though  they  were  so  recent,  had  already 
been  relegated  to  the  domain  of  the  legendary  ? 

A  charred  ruin  on  the  Reche. 

A  grave  in  the  cemetery,  upon  which  was  inscribed : 

"  MARIE-ANNE  LACHENEUR,  DIED  AT  THE  AGE  OF 
TWENTY.  PRAY  FOR  HER  ! " 

Only  a  few,  the  oldest  men  and  the  politicians  of  the 
village,  forgot  their  solicitude  in  regard  to  the  crops 
to  remember  this  episode. 

Sometimes,  during  the  long  winter  evenings,  when 
they  had  gathered  at  the  Boeuf  Couronne,  they  laid 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    505 

down  their  greasy  cards  and  gravely  discussed  the 
events  of  the  past  years. 

They  never  failed  to  remark  that  almost  all  the  actors 
in  that  bloody  drama  at  Montaignac  had,  in  common 
parlance,  "  come  to  a  bad  end." 

Victors  and  vanquished  seemed  to  be  pursued  by  the 
same  inexorable  fatality. 

Look  at  the  names  already  upon  the  fatal  list ! 

Lacheneur,  beheaded. 

Chanlouineau,  shot. 

Marie-Anne,  poisoned. 

Chupin,  the  traitor,  assassinated. 

The  Marquis  de  Courtornieu  lived,  or  rather  sur- 
vived, but  death  would  have  seemed  a  mercy  in  com- 
parison with  such  total  annihilation  of  intelligence. 
He  had  fallen  below  the  level  of  the  brute,  which  is,  at 
least,  endowed  with  instinct.  Since  the  departure  of 
his  daughter  he  had  been  cared  for  by  two  servants, 
who  did  not  allow  him  to  give  them  much  trouble,  and 
when  they  desired  to  go  out  they  shut  him  up,  not  in 
his  chamber,  but  in  the  cellar,  to  prevent  his  ravings 
and  shrieks  from  being  heard  from  without. 

If  people  supposed  for  awhile  that  the  Sairmeuse 
would  escape  the  fate  of  the  others,  they  were  mis- 
taken. It  was  not  long  before  the  curse  fell  upon  them. 

One  fine  morning  in  the  month  of  December,  the 
duke  left  the  chateau  to  take  part  in  a  wolf-hunt  in 
the  neighborhood. 

At  nightfall,  his  horse  returned,  panting,  covered 
with  foam,  and  riderless. 

What  had  become  of  its  master? 

A  search  was  instituted  at  once,  and  all  night  long 
twenty  men,  bearing  torches,  wandered  through  the 
woods,  shouting  and  calling  at  the  top  of  their  voices. 


506         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

Five  days  went  by,  and  the  search  for  the  missing 
man  was  almost  abandoned,  when  a  shepherd  lad,  pale 
with  fear,  came  to  the  chateau  one  morning  to  tell 
them  that  he  had  discovered,  at  the  base  of  a  precipice, 
the  bloody  and  mangled  body  of  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse. 

It  seemed  strange  that  such  an  excellent  rider  should 
have  met  with  such  a  fate.  There  might  have  been 
some  doubt  as  to  its  being  an  accident,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  explanation  given  by  the  grooms. 

"  The  duke  was  riding  an  exceedingly  vicious 
beast,"  said  these  men.  "  She  was  always  taking  fright 
and  shying  at  everything." 

The  following  week  Jean  Lacheneur  left  the  neigh- 
borhood. 

The  conduct  of  this  singular  man  had  caused  much 
comment.  When  Marie-Anne  died,  he  at  first  refused 
his  inheritance. 

"  I  wish  nothing  that  came  to  her  through  Chanloui- 
neau,"  he  said  everywhere,  thus  calumniating  the  mem- 
ory of  his  sister  as  he  had  calumniated  her  when  alive. 

Then,  after  a  short  absence,  and  without  any  appar- 
ent reason,  he  suddenly  changed  his  mind. 

He  not  only  accepted  the  property,  but  made  all  pos- 
sible haste  to  obtain  possession  of  it.  He  made  many 
excuses ;  and,  if  one  might  believe  him,  he  was  not  act- 
ing in  his  own  interest,  but  merely  conforming  to  the 
wishes  of  his  deceased  sister;  and  he  declared  that 
not  a  penny  would  go  into  his  pockets. 

This  much  is  certain,  as  soon  as  he  obtained  legal 
possession  of  the  estate,  he  sold  all  the  property,  troub- 
ling himself  but  little  in  regard  to  the  price  he  received, 
provided  the  purchasers  paid  cash. 

He  reserved  only  the  furniture  of  the  sumptuously 
adorned  chamber  at  the  Borderie.  These  articles  he 
burned. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    507 

This  strange  act  was  the  talk  of  the  neighborhood. 

"  The  poor  young  man  has  lost  his  reason !  "  was 
the  almost  universal  opinion. 

And  those  who  doubted  it,  doubted  it  no  longer 
when  it  became  known  that  Jean  Lacheneur  had 
formed  an  engagement  with  a  company  of  strolling 
players  who  stopped  at  Montaignac  for  a  few  days. 

But  the  young  man  had  not  wanted  for  good  advice 
and  kind  friends.  M.  d'Escorval  and  the  abbe  had  ex- 
erted all  their  eloquence  to  induce  him  to  return  to 
Paris,  and  complete  his  studies ;  but  in  vain. 

The  necessity  for  concealment  no  longer  existed, 
either  in  the  case  of  the  baron  or  the  priest. 

Thanks  to  Martial  de  Sairmeuse  they  were  now  in- 
stalled, the  one  in  the  presbytery,  the  other  at  Escor- 
val,  as  in  days  gone  by. 

Acquitted  at  his  new  trial,  restored  to  the  possession 
of  his  property,  reminded  of  his  frightful  fall  only  by 
a  very  slight  lameness,  the  baron  would  have  deemed 
himself  a  fortunate  man,  had  it  not  been  for  his  great 
anxiety  on  his  son's  account. 

Poor  Maurice!  his  heart  was  broken  by  the  sound 
of  the  clods  of  earth  falling  upon  Marie-Anne's  coffin ; 
and  his  very  life  now  seemed  dependent  upon  the  hope 
of  rinding  his  child. 

Assured  of  the  powerful  assistance  of  Abbe  Midon, 
he  had  confessed  all  to  his  father,  and  confided  his  se- 
cret to  Corporal  Bavois,  who  was  an  honored  guest  at 
Escorval ;  and  these  devoted  friends  had  promised  him 
all  possible  aid. 

The  task  was  very  difficult,  however,  and  certain 
resolutions  on  the  part  of  Maurice  greatly  diminished 
the  chance  of  success. 

Unlike  Jean,  he  was  determined  to  guard  religiously 


5o8         THE   HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

the  honor  of  the  dead ;  and  he  had  made  his  friends 
promise  that  Marie-Anne's  name  should  not  be  men- 
tioned in  prosecuting  the  search. 

"  We  shall  succeed  all  the  same,"  said  the  abbe,  kind- 
ly ;  "  with  time  and  patience  any  mystery  can  be 
solved." 

He  divided  the  department  into  a  certain  number  of 
districts ;  then  one  of  the  little  band  went  each  day 
from  house  to  house  questioning  the  inmates,  but  not 
without  extreme  caution,  for  fear  of  arousing  suspi- 
cion, for  a  peasant  becomes  intractable  at  once  if  his 
suspicions  are  aroused. 

But  the  weeks  went  by,  and  the  quest  was  fruitless. 
Maurice  was  deeply  discouraged. 

"  My  child  died  on  coming  into  the  world,"  he  said, 
again  and  again. 

But  the  abbe  reassured  him. 

"  I  am  morally  certain  that  such  was  not  the  case," 
he  replied.  "  I  know,  by  Marie-Anne's  absence,  the 
date  of  her  child's  birth.  I  saw  her  after  her  recovery ; 
she  was  comparatively  gay  and  smiling.  Draw  your 
own  conclusions." 

"  And  yet  there  is  not  a  nook  or  corner  for  miles 
around  which  we  have  not  explored." 

"  True ;  but  we  must  extend  the  circle  of  our  investi- 
gations." 

The  priest,  now,  was  only  striving  to  gain  time, 
knowing  full  well  that  it  is  the  sovereign  balm  for  all 
sorrows. 

His  confidence,  which  had  been  very  great  at  first, 
had  been  sensibly  diminished  by  the  responses  of  an 
old  woman,  who  passed  for  one  of  the  greatest  gossips 
in  the  community. 

Adroitly  interrogated,  the  worthy  dame  replied  that 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    5°9 

she  knew  nothing  of  such  a  child,  but  that  there  must 
be  one  in  the  neighborhood,  since  it  was  the  third  time 
she  had  been  questioned  on  the  subject. 

Intense  as  was  his  surprise,  the  abbe  succeeded  in 
hiding  it. 

He  set  the  old  gossip  to  talking,  and  after  a  two 
hours'  conversation,  he  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that 
two  persons  besides  Maurice  were  searching  for  Marie- 
Anne's  child. 

Why,  with  what  aim,  and  who  these  persons  could 
be  the  abbe  was  unable  to  ascertain. 

"  Ah !  rascals  have  their  uses  after  all,"  he  thought. 
"  If  we  only  had  a  man  like  Chupin  to  set  upon  the 
track !  " 

But  the  old  poacher  was  dead,  and  his  eldest  son — 
the  one  who  knew  Blanche  de  Courtornieu's  secret — 
was  in  Paris. 

Only  the  widow  and  the  second  son  remained  in 
Sairmeuse. 

They  had  not,  as  yet,  succeeded  in  discovering  the 
twenty  thousand  francs,  but  the  fever  for  gold  was 
burning  in  their  veins,  and  they  persisted  in  their 
search.  From  morning  until  night  the  mother  and 
son  toiled  on,  until  the  earth  around  their  hut  had  been 
explored  to  the  depth  of  six  feet. 

A  word  dropped  by  a  peasant  one  day  put  an  end  to 
these  researches. 

"  Really,  my  boy,"  he  said,  addressing  young  Chu- 
pin, "  I  did  not  suppose  you  were  such  a  fool  as  to  per- 
sist in  hunting  birds'  nests  after  the  birds  have  flown. 
Your  brother,  who  is  in  Paris,  can  undoubtedly  tell  you 
where  the  treasure  was  concealed." 

The  younger  Chupin  uttered  the  fierce  roar  of  a  wild 
beast. 


5io         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"  Holy  Virgin !  you  are  right ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Wait  until  I  get  money  enough  to  take  me  to  Paris, 
and  we  will  see." 


CHAPTER   L 

Martial  de  Sairmeuse's  unexpected  visit  to  the  Cha- 
teau de  Courtornieu  had  alarmed  Aunt  Medea  even 
more  than  Blanche. 

In  ten  seconds,  more  ideas  passed  through  her  brain 
than  had  visited  it  for  ten  years. 

She  saw  the  gendarmes  at  the  chateau ;  she  saw  her 
niece  arrested,  incarcerated  in  the  Montaignac  prison, 
and  brought  before  the  Court  of  Assizes. 

If  this  were  all  she  had  to  fear !  But  suppose  she, 
too,  were  compromised,  suspected  of  complicity, 
dragged  before  the  judge,  and  even  accused  of  being 
the  sole  culprit! 

Finding  the  suspense  intolerable,  she  left  her  room ; 
and,  stealing  on  tiptoe  to  the  great  drawing-room,  she 
applied  her  ear  to  the  door  of  the  little  blue  salon,  in 
which  Blanche  and  Martial  were  seated. 

The  conversation  which  she  heard  convinced  her 
that  her  fears  were  groundless. 

She  drew  a  long  breath,  as  if  a  mighty  burden  had 
been  lifted  from  her  breast.  But  a  new  idea,  which 
was  to  grow,  flourish,  and  bear  fruit,  had  just  taken 
root  in  her  brain. 

When  Martial  left  the  room,  Aunt  Medea  at  once 
opened  the  communicating  door  and  entered  the  blue 
salon,  thus  avowing  that  she  had  been  a  listener. 

Twenty-four    hours     earlier   she   would    not    have,. 
Breamed  of  committing  such  an  enormity. 

"  Well,  Blanche,  we  were  frightened  at  nothing," 
she  exclaimed. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    511 

Blanche  did  not  reply. 

She  was  deliberating,  forcing  herself  to  weigh  the 
probable  consequences  of  all  these  events  which  had 
succeeded  each  other  with  such  marvellous  rapidity. 

"  Perhaps  the  hour  of  my  revenge  is  almost  here," 
murmured  Blanche,  as  if  communing  with  herself. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  "  inquired  Aunt  Medea,  with 
evident  curiosity. 

"  I  say,  aunt,  that  in  less  than  a  month  I  shall  be  Mar- 
quise de  Sairmeuse  in  reality  as  well  as  in  name.  My 
husband  will  return  to  me,  and  then — oh,  then !  " 

"  God  grant  it !  "  said  Aunt  Medea,  hypocritically. 

In  her  secret  heart  she  had  but  little  faith  in  this  pre- 
diction, and  whether  it  was  realized  or  not  mattered 
little  to  her. 

"  Still  another  proof  that  your  jealousy  led  you 
astray ;  and  that — that  what  you  did  at  the  Borderie 
was  unnecessary,"  she  said,  in  that  low  tone  that  ac- 
complices always  use  in  speaking  of  their  crime. 

Such  had  'been  the  opinion  of  Blanche ;  but  she  now 
shook  her  head,  and  gloomily  replied : 

"  You  are  wrong ;  that  which  took  place  at  the  Bor- 
derie has  restored  my  husband  to  me.  I  understand 
it  all,  now.  It  is  true  that  Marie-Anne  was  not  Mar- 
tial's mistress,  but  Martial  loved  her.  He  loved  her, 
and  the  rebuffs  which  he  received  only  increased  his 
passion.  It  was  for  her  sake  that  he  abandoned  me ; 
and  never,  while  she  lived,  would  he  have  thought  of 
me.  His  emotion  on  seeing  me  was  the  remnant  of 
the  emotion  which  had  been  awakened  by  another. 
His  tenderness  was  only  the  expression  of  his  sorrow. 
Whatever  happens,  I  shall  have  only  her  leavings—1 
what  she  has  disdained!  "  the  young  marquise  added, 
.bitterly ;  and  her  eyes  flashed,  and  she  stamped  her  foot 


THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

in  ungovernable  anger.  "  And  shall  I  regret  what  I 
have  done  ?  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  never !  no,  never !  " 

From  that  moment,  she  was  herself  again,  brave  and 
determined. 

But  horrible  fears  assailed  her  when  the  inquest  be- 
gan. 

Officials  came  from  Montaignac  charged  with  inves- 
tigating the  affair.  They  examined  a  host  of  witnesses, 
and  there  was  even  talk  of  sending  to  Paris  for  one  of 
those  detectives  skilled  in  unravelling  all  the  mysteries 
of  crime. 

Aunt  Medea  was  half  crazed  with  terror;  and  her 
fear  was  so  apparent  that  it  caused  Blanche  great  anx- 
iety. 

"  You  will  end  by  betraying  us,"  she  remarked,  one 
evening. 

"  Ah !  my  terror  is  beyond  my  control."    . 

"  If  that  is  the  case,  do  not  leave  your  room." 

"  It  would  be  more  prudent,  certainly." 

"  You  can  say  that  you  are  not  well ;  your  meals 
shall  be  served  in  your  own  apartment." 

Aunt  Medea's  face  brightened.  In  her  inmost  heart 
she  was  enraptured.  To  have  her  meals  served  in  her 
own  room,  in  her  bed  in  the  morning,  and  on  a  little 
table  by  the  fire  in  the  evening,  had  long  been  the  am- 
bition and  the  dream  of  the  poor  dependent.  But  how 
to  accomplish  it !  Two  or  three  times,  being  a  trifle 
indisposed,  she  had  ventured  to  ask  if  her  breakfast 
might  be  brought  to  her  room,  but  her  request  had 
been  harshly  refused. 

"  If  Aunt  Medea  is  hungry,  she  will  come  down  and 
take  her  place  at  the  table  as  usual,"  had  been  the  re- 
sponse of  Mme.  Blanche. 

To  be  treated  in  this  way  in  a  chateau  where  there 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    513 

were  a  dozen  servants  standing  about  idle  was  hard 
indeed. 

But  now 

Every  morning,  in  obedience  to  a  formal  order  from 
Blanche,  the  cook  came  up  to  receive  Aunt  Medea's 
commands ;  she  was  permitted  to  dictate  the  bill-of-fare 
each  day,  and  to  order  the  dishes  that  she  preferred. 

These  new  joys  awakened  many  strange  thoughts  in 
her  mind,  and  dissipated  much  of  the  regret  which  she 
had  felt  for  the  crime  at  the  Borderie. 

The  inquest  was  the  subject  of  all  her  conversation 
with  her  niece.  They  had  all  the  latest  information  in 
regard  to  the  facts  developed  by  the  investigation 
through  the  butler,  who  took  a  great  interest  in  such 
matters,  and  who  had  won  the  good-will  of  the  agents 
from  Montaignac,  by  making  them  familiar  with  the 
contents  of  his  wine-cellar. 

Through  him,  Blanche  and  her  aunt  learned  that 
suspicion  pointed  to  the  deceased  Chupin.  Had  he 
not  been  seen  prowling  around  the  Borderie  on  the 
very  evening  that  the  crime  was  committed  ?  The  tes- 
timony of  the  young  peasant  who  had  warned  Jean 
Lacheneur  seemed  decisive. 

The  motive  was  evident;  at  least,  everyone  thought 
so.  Twenty  persons  had  heard  Chupin  declare,  with 
frightful  oaths,  that  he  should  never  be  tranquil  in  mind 
while  a  Lacheneur  was  left  upon  earth. 

So  that  which  might  have  ruined  Blanche,  saved 
her ;  and  the  death  of  the  old  poacher  seemed  really 
providential. 

Why  should  she  suspect  that  Chupin  had  revealed 
her  secret  before  his  death  ? 

When  the  butler  told  her  that  the  judges  and  the 
33 


Si4        THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

police  agents  had  returned  to  Montaignac,  she  had 
great  difficulty  in  concealing  her  joy. 

"  There  is  no  longer  anything  to  fear,"  she  said  to 
Aunt  Medea. 

She  had,  indeed,  escaped  the  justice  of  man.  There 
remained  the  justice  of  God. 

A  few  weeks  before,  this  thought  of  "  the  justice  of 
God  "  might,  perhaps,  have  brought  a  smile  to  the  lips 
of  Mme.  Blanche. 

She  then  regarded  it  as  an  imaginary  evil,  designed 
to  hold  timorous  spirits  in  check. 

On  the  morning  that  followed  her  crime,  she  almost 
shrugged  her  shoulders  at  the  thought  of  Marie- 
Anne's  dying  threats. 

She  remembered  her  promise,  but  she  did  not  intend 
to  fulfil  it. 

She  had  considered  the  matter,  and  she  saw  the  ter- 
rible risk  to  which  she  exposed  herself  if  she  endeav- 
ored to  find  the  missing  child. 

"  The  father  will  be  sure  to  discover  it,"  she  thought. 

But  she  was  to  realize  the  power  of  her  victim's 
threats  that  same  evening. 

Overcome  with  fatigue,  she  retired  to  her  room  at 
an  early  hour,  and  instead  of  reading,  as  she  was  accus- 
tomed to  do  before  retiring,  she  extinguished  her  can- 
dle as  soon  as  she  had  undressed,  saying: 

"  I  must  sleep." 

But  sleep  had  fled.  Her  crime  was  ever  in  her 
thoughts ;  it  rose  before  her  in  all  its  horror  and  atroc- 
ity. She  knew  that  she  was  lying  upon  her  bed,  at 
Courtornieu ;  and  yet  it  seemed  as  if  she  was  there  in 
Chanlouineau's  house,  pouring  out  poison,  then  watch- 
ing its  effects,  concealed  in  the  dressing-room. 

She  was  struggling  against  these  thoughts ;  she  was 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    515 

exerting  all  her  strength  of  will  to  drive  away  these 
terrible  memories,  when  she  thought  she  heard  the 
key  turn  in  the  lock.  She  lifted  her  head  from  the  pil- 
low with  a  start. 

Then,  by  the  uncertain  light  of  her  night-lamp,  she 
thought  she  saw  the  door  open  slowly  and  noiselessly. 
Marie-Anne  entered — gliding  in  like  a  phantom.  She 
seated  herself  in  an  arm-chair  near  the  bed.  Great 
tears  were  rolling  down  her  cheeks,  and  she  looked 
sadly,  yet  threateningly,  around  her. 

The  murderess  hid  her  face  under  the  bed-covers ; 
and  her  whole  body  was  bathed  in  an  icy  perspiration. 
For  her,  this  was  not  a  mere  apparition — it  was  a  fright- 
ful reality. 

But  hers  was  not  a  nature  to  submit  unresistingly 
to  such  an  impression.  She  shook  off  the  stupor  that 
was  creeping  over  her,  and  tried  to  reason  with  herself 
aloud,  as  if  the  sound  of  her  voice  would  reassure  her. 

"  I  am  dreaming !  "  she  said.  "  Do  the  dead  return 
to  life?  Am  I  childish  enough  to  be  frightened  by 
phantoms  born  of  my  own  imaginations  ?  " 

She  said  this,  but  the  phantom  did  not  disappear. 

She  shut  her  eyes,  but  still  she  saw  it  through  her 
closed  eyelids — through  the  coverings  which  she  had 
drawn  up  over  her  head,  she  saw  it  still. 

Not  until  daybreak  did  Mme.  Blanche  fall  asleep. 

And  it  was  the  same  the  next  night,  and  the  night 
following  that,  and  always  and  always ;  and  the  terrors 
of  each  night  were  augmented  by  the  terrors  of  the 
nights  which  had  preceded  it. 

During  the  day,  in  the  bright  sunshine,  she  regained 
her  courage,  and  became  sceptical  again.  Then  she 
railed  at  herself. 

"  To  be  afraid  of  something  that  does  not  exist,  is 


516         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

folly !  "  she  said,  vehemently.     "  To-night  I  will  con- 
quer my  absurd  weakness." 

But  when  evening  came  all  her  brave  resolution  van- 
ished, and  the  same  fear  seized  her  when  night  ap- 
peared with  its  cortege  of  spectres. 

It  is  true  that  Mme.  Blanche  attributed  her  tort- 
ures at  night  to  the  disquietude  she  suffered  during 
the  day. 

For  the  officials  were  at  Sairmeuse,  then,  and  she 
trembled.  A  mere  nothing  might  divert  suspicion 
from  Chupin  and  direct  it  toward  her.  What  if  some 
peasant  had  seen  her  with  Chupin?  What  if  some 
trifling  circumstance  should  furnish  a  clew  which 
would  lead  straight  to  Courtornieu  ? 

"  When  the  investigation  is  over,  I  shall  forget,"  she 
thought. 

It  ended,  but  she  did  not  forget. 

Darwin  has  said : 

"  It  is  when  their  safety  is  assured  that  great  crimi- 
nals really  feel  remorse." 

Mme.  Blanche  might  have  vouched  for  the  truth 
of  this  assertion,  made  by  the  most  profound  thinker 
and  closest  observer  of  the  age. 

And  yet,  the  agony  she  was  enduring  did  not  make 
her  abandon,  for  a  single  moment,  the  plan  she  had 
conceived  on  the  day  of  Martial's  visit. 

She  played  her  part  so  well,  that,  deeply  moved,  al- 
most repentant,  he  returned  five  or  six  times,  and  at 
last,  one  day,  he  besought  her  to  allow  him  to  remain. 

But  even  the  joy  of  this  triumph  did  not  restore  her 
peace  of  mind. 

Between  her  and  her  husband  rose  that  dread  appari- 
tion ;  and  Marie-Anne's  distorted  features  were  ever 
before  her.  She  knew  only  too  well  that  this  heart- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    517 

broken  man  had  no  love  to  give  her,  and  that  she 
would  never  have  the  slightest  influence  over  him. 
And  to  crown  all,  to  her  already  intolerable  sufferings 
was  added  another,  more  poignant  than  all  the  rest. 

Speaking  one  evening  of  Marie-Anne's  death,  Mar- 
tial forgot  himself,  and  spoke  of  his  oath  of  vengeance. 
He  deeply  regretted  that  Chupin  was  dead,  he  re- 
marked, for  he  should  have  experienced  an  intense  de- 
light in  making  the  wretch  who  murdered  her  die 
a  lingering  death  in  the  midst  of  the  most  frightful  tort- 
ures. 

He  spoke  with  extreme  violence  and  in  a  voice  vi- 
brant with  his  still  powerful  passion. 

And  Blanche,  in  terror,  asked  herself  what  would 
be  her  fate  if  her  husband  ever  discovered  that  she  was 
the  culprit — and  he  might  discover  it. 

She  now  began  to  regret  that  she  had  not  kept  the 
promise  she  had  made  to  her  victim ;  and  she  resolved 
to  commence  the  search  for  Marie-Anne's  child. 

To  do  this  effectually  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  be 
in  a  large  city — Paris,  for  example — where  she  could 
procure  discreet  and  skilful  agents. 

It  was  necessary  to  persuade  Martial  to  remove  to 
the  capital.  Aided  by  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse,  she  did 
not  find  this  a  very  difficult  task ;  and  one  morning, 
Mme.  Blanche,  with  a  radiant  face,  announced  to 
Aunt  Medea : 

"  Aunt,  we  leave  just  one  week  from  to-day." 


5i8        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 


CHAPTER  LI 

Beset  by  a  thousand  fears  and  anxieties,  Blanche  had 
failed  to  notice  that  Aunt  Medea  was  no  longer  the 
same. 

The  change,  it  is  true,  had  been  gradual ;  it  had  not 
struck  the  servants,  but  it  was  none  the  less  positive 
and  real,  and  it  betrayed  itself  in  numberless  trifles. 

For  example,  though  the  poor  dependent  still  re- 
tained her  humble,  resigned  manner ;  she  had  lost,  little 
by  little,  the  servile  fear  that  had  showed  itself  in  her 
every  movement.  She  no  longer  trembled  when  any- 
one addressed  her,  and  there  was  occasionally  a  ring 
of  independence  in  her  voice. 

If  visitors  were  present,  she  no  longer  kept  herself 
modestly  in  the  background,  but  drew  forward  her 
chair  and  took  part  in  the  conversation.  At  table,  she 
allowed  her  preferences  and  her  dislikes  to  appear.  On 
two  or  three  occasions  she  had  ventured  to  differ  from 
her  niece  in  opinion,  and  had  even  been  so  bold  as  to 
question  the  propriety  of  some  of  her  orders. 

Once,  Mme.  Blanche,  on  going  out,  asked  Aunt 
Medea  to  accompany  her;  but  the  latter  declared  she 
had  a  cold,  and  remained  at  home. 

And,  on  the  following  Sunday,  although  Blanche 
did  not  wish  to  attend  vespers,  Aunt  Medea  declared 
her  intention  of  going ;  and  as  it  rained,  she  requested 
the  coachman  to  harness  the  horses  to  the  carriage, 
which  was  done. 

All  this  was  nothing,  in  appearance  ;  in  reality,  it  was 
monstrous,  amazing.  It  was  quite  plain  that  the  hum- 
ble relative  was  becoming  bold,  even  audacious,  in  her 
demands. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    519 

As  this  departure,  which  her  niece  had  just  an- 
nounced so  gayly,  had  never  been  discussed  before  her, 
she  was  greatly  surprised. 

"  What !  you  are  going  away,"  she  repeated ;  "  you 
are  leaving  Courtornieu  ?  " 

"  And  without  regret." 

"  To  go  where,  pray?  " 

"  To  Paris.  We  shall  reside  there ;  that  is  decided. 
That  is  the  place  for  my  husband.  His  name,  his  fort- 
une, his  talents,  the  favor  of  the  King,  assure  him  a 
high  position  there.  He  will  repurchase  the  Hotel  de 
Sairmeuse,  and  furnish  it  magnificently.  We  shall 
have  a  princely  establishment." 

All  the  torments  of  envy  were  visible  upon  Aunt 
Medea's  countenance. 

"  And  what  is  to  become  of  me  ?  "  she  asked,  in  plain- 
tive tones. 

"  You,  aunt !  You  will  remain  here ;  you  will  be 
mistress  of  the  chateau.  A  trustworthy  person  must 
remain  to  watch  over  my  poor  father.  You  will  be 
happy  and  contented  here,  I  hope." 

But  no ;  Aunt  Medea  did  not  seem  satisfied. 

"  I  shall  never  have  courage  to  stay  all  alone  in  this 
great  chateau,"  she  whined. 

"  You  foolish  woman !  will  you  not  have  the  ser- 
vants, the  gardeners,  and  the  concierge  to  protect  you  ?  " 

"  That  makes  no  difference.  I  am  afraid  of  insane 
people.  When  the  marquis  began  to  rave  and  howl 
this  evening,  I  felt  as  if  I  should  go  mad  myself." 

Blanche  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  What  do  you  wish,  then  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  still  more 
sarcastic  manner. 

"  I  thought — I  wondered — if  you  would  not  take 
me  with  you." 


520         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

"To  Paris!  You  are  crazy,  I  do  believe.  What 
would  you  do  there  ?  " 

"  Blanche,  I  entreat  you,  I  beseech  you,  to  do  so !  " 

"  Impossible,  aunt ;  impossible  !  " 

Aunt  Medea  seemed  to  be  in  despair. 

"  And  what  if  I  should  tell  you  that  I  cannot  remain 
here — that  I  dare  not — that  I  should  die !  " 

A  flush  of  impatience  dyed  the  cheek  of  Mme. 
Blanche. 

"  You  weary  me  beyond  endurance,"  she  said, 
rudely. 

And  with  a  gesture  that  increased  the  harshness  of 
her  words,  she  added  : 

"  If  Courtornieu  displeases  you  so  much,  there  is 
nothing  to  prevent  you  from  seeking  a  home  more  to 
your  taste.  You  are  free  and  of  age." 

Aunt  Medea  turned  very  pale,  and  she  bit  her  lips 
until  the  blood  came. 

"  That  is  to  say,"  she  said,  at  last,  "  you  permit  me  to 
take  my  choice  between  dying  of  fear  at  Courtornieu 
and  ending  my  days  in  a  hospital.  Thanks,  my  niece, 
thanks.  That  is  like  you.  I  expected  nothing  less 
of  you.  Thanks !  " 

She  raised  her  head,  and  a  dangerous  light  gleamed 
in  her  eyes.  There  was  the  hiss  of  a  serpent  in  the 
voice  in  which  she  continued : 

"  Very  well !  this  decides  me.  I  entreated  you,  and 
you  brutally  refused  to  heed  my  prayer,  now  I  com- 
mand and  I  say :  '  I  will  go ! '  Yes,  I  intend  to  go 
with  you  to  Paris — and  I  shall  go.  Ah!  it  surprises 
you  to  hear  poor,  meek,  much-abused  Aunt  Medea 
speak  in  this  way.  I  have  endured  in  silence  for  a  long 
time,  but  I  have  rebelled  at  last.  My  life  in  this  house 
has  been  a  hell.  It  is  true  that  you  have  given  me  shel- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    521 

ter — that  you  have  fed  and  lodged  me ;  but  you  have 
taken  my  entire  life  in  exchange.  What  servant  ever 
endured  what  I  have  endured  ?  Have  you  ever  treated 
one  of  your  maids  as  you  have  treated  me,  your  own 
flesh  and  blood?  And  I  have  had  no  wages;  on  the 
contrary,  I  was  expected  to  be  grateful  since  I  lived 
by  your  tolerance.  Ah !  you  have  made  me  pay  dearly 
for  the  crime  of  being  poor.  How  you  have  insulted 
me — humiliated  me — trampled  me  under  foot !  " 

She  paused. 

The  bitter  rancor  which  had  been  accumulating  for 
years  fairly  choked  her;  but  after  a  moment  she  re- 
sumed, in  a  tone  of  intense  irony : 

"  You  ask  me  what  /  would  do  in  Paris  ?  I,  too, 
would  enjoy  myself.  What  will  you  do,  yourself? 
You  will  go  to  Court,  to  balls,  and  to  the  play,  will  you 
not  ?  Very  well,  I  will  accompany  you.  I  will  attend 
these  fetes.  I  will  have  handsome  toilets,  I — poor 
Aunt  Medea — who  have  never  seen  myself  in  anything 
but  shabby  black  woollen  dresses.  Have  you  ever 
thought  of  giving  me  the  pleasure  of  possessing  a 
handsome  dress?  Yes,  twice  a  year,  perhaps,  you 
have  given  me  a  black  silk,  recommending  me  to  take 
good  care  of  it.  But  it  was  not  for  my  sake  that  you 
went  to  this  expense.  It  was  for  your  own  sake ;  and 
in  order  that  your  poor  relation  should  do  honor  to 
your  generosity.  You  dressed  me  in  it,  as  you  sew 
gold  lace  upon  the  clothing  of  your  lackeys,  through 
vanity.  And  I  endured  all  this ;  I  made  myself  insig- 
nificant and  humble ;  buffeted  upon  one  cheek,  I 
offered  the  other.  I  must  live — I  must  have  food. 
And  you,  Blanche,  how  often,  to  make  me  subservient 
to  your  will,  have  you  said  to  me :  '  You  will  do  thus- 
and-so,  if  you  desire  to  remain  at  Courtornieu  ?  '  And 


522         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

I  obeyed — I  was  forced  to  obey,  since  I  knew  not 
where  to  go.  Ah !  you  have  abused  me  in  every  way ; 
but  now  my  turn  has  come !  " 

Blanche  was  so  amazed  that  she  could  not  articulate 
a  syllable.  At  last,  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice,  she 
faltered : 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  aunt ;  I  do  not  understand 
you." 

The  poor  dependent  shrugged  her  shoulders,  as  her 
niece  had  done  a  few  moments  before. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  she,  slowly,  "  I  may  as  well  tell 
you  that  since  you  have,  against  my  will,  made  me  your 
accomplice,  we  must  share  everything  in  common.  I 
share  the  danger;  I  will  share  the  pleasure.  What  if 
all  should  be  discovered?  Do  you  ever  think  of  that? 
Yes  ;  and  that  is  why  you  are  seeking  diversion.  Very 
well !  I  also  desire  diversion.  I  shall  go  to  Paris  with 
you." 

By  a  terrible  effort  Blanche  had  succeeded  in  regain- 
ing her  self-possession,  in  some  measure  at  least. 

"  And  if  I  should  say  no  ?  "  she  responded,  coldly. 

"  But  you  will  not  say  no." 

"  And  why,  if  you  please  ?  " 

"  Because " 

"  Will  you  go  to  the  authorities  and  denounce  me  ?  " 

Aunt  Medea  shook  her  head. 

"  I  am  not  such  a  fool,"  she  retorted.  "  I  should 
only  compromise  myself.  No,  I  shall  not  do  that ;  but 
I  might,  perhaps,  tell  your  husband  what  happened  at 
the  Borderie." 

Blanche  shuddered.  No  threat  was  capable  of  mov- 
ing her  like  that. 

"  You  shall  accompany  us,  aunt,"  said  she ;  "  I  prom- 
ise it." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    523 

Then  she  added,  gently : 

"  But  it  is  unnecessary  to  threaten  me.  You  have 
been  cruel,  aunt,  and  at  the  same  time,  unjust.  If  you 
have  been  unhappy  in  our  house,  you  alone  are  to 
blame.  Why  have  you  said  nothing?  I  attributed 
your  complaisance  to  your  affection  for  me.  How 
was  I  to  know  that  a  woman  as  quiet  and  modest  as 
yourself  longed  for  fine  apparel.  Confess  that  it  was 
impossible.  Had  I  known —  But  rest  easy,  aunt;  I 
will  atone  for  my  neglect." 

And  as  Aunt  Medea,  having  obtained  all  she  desired, 
stammered  an  excuse : 

"  Nonsense !  "  Blanche  exclaimed  ;  "  let  us  forget 
this  foolish  quarrel.  You  forgive  me,  do  you  not?  " 

And  the  two  ladies  embraced  each  other  with  the 
greatest  effusion,  like  two  friends  united  after  a  mis- 
understanding. But  Aunt  Medea  was  as  far  from  be- 
ing deceived  by  this  mock  reconciliation  as  the  clear- 
sighted Blanche. 

"  It  will  be  best  for  me  to  keep  on  the  qui  vive," 
thought  the  humble  relative.  "  God  only  knows  with 
what  intense  joy  my  dear  niece  would  send  me  to  join 
Marie- Anne." 

Perhaps  a  similar  thought  flitted  through  the  mind 
of  Mme.  Blanche 

She  felt  as  a  convict  might  feel  on  seeing  his  most 
execrated  enemy,  perhaps  the  man  who  had  betrayed 
him,  fastened  to  the  other  end  of  his  chain. 

"  I  am  bound  now  and  forever  to  this  dangerous  and 
perfidious  creature,"  she  thought.  "  I  am  no  longer 
my  own  mistress ;  I  belong  to  her.  When  she  com- 
mands, I  must  obey.  I  must  be  the  slave  of  her  every 
caprice — and  she  has  forty  years  of  humiliation  and 
servitude  to  avenge." 


524        THE   HONOR    OF   THE    NAME 

The  prospect  of  such  a  life  made  her  tremble ;  and 
she  racked  her  brain  to  discover  some  way  of  freeing 
herself  from  her  detested  companion. 

Would  it  be  possible  to  inspire  Aunt  Medea  with  a 
desire  to  live  independently  in  her  own  house,  served 
by  her  own  servants  ? 

Might  she  succeed  in  persuading  this  silly  old 
woman,  who  still  longed  for  finery  and  ball-dresses,  to 
marry  ?  A  handsome  marriage-portion  will  always  at- 
tract a  husband. 

But,  in  either  case,  Blanche  would  require  money — 
a  large  sum  of  money,  for  whose  use  she  would  be  ac- 
countable to  no  one. 

This  conviction  made  her  resolve  to  take  possession 
of  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs,  in 
bank-notes  and  coin,  belonging  to  her  father. 

This  sum  represented  the  savings  of  the  Marquis  de 
Courtornieu  during  the  past  three  years.  No  one 
knew  he  had  laid  it  aside,  except  his  daughter;  and 
now  that  he  had  lost  his  reason,  Blanche,  who  knew 
where  the  hoard  was  concealed,  could  take  it  for  her 
own  use  without  the  slightest  danger. 

"  With  this,"  she  thought,  "  I  can  at  any  moment  en- 
rich Aunt  Medea  without  having  recourse  to  Martial." 

After  this  little  scene  there  was  a  constant  inter- 
change of  delicate  attentions  and  touching  devotion 
between  the  two  ladies.  It  was  "  my  dearest  little 
aunt,"  and  "  my  dearly  beloved  niece,"  from  morning 
until  night ;  and  the  gossips  of  the  neighborhood,  who 
had  often  commented  upon  the  haughty  disdain  which 
Mme.  Blanche  displayed  in  her  treatment  of  her  rela- 
tive, would  have  found  abundant  food  for  comment 
had  they  known  that  Aunt  Medea  was  protected  from 
the  possibility  of  cold  by  a  mantle  lined  with  costly  fur, 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    525 

exactly  like  the  marquise's  own,  and  that  she  made  the 
journey,  not  in  the  large  Berlin,  with  the  servants,  but 
in  the  post-chaise  with  the  Marquis  and  Marquise  de 
Sairmeuse. 

The  change  was  so  marked  that  even  Martial  re- 
marked it,  and  as  soon  as  he  found  himself  alone  with 
his  wife,  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  good-natured  rail- 
lery: 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  devotion  ?  We 
shall  finish  by  encasing  this  precious  aunt  in  cotton, 
shall  we  not  ?  " 

Blanche  trembled,  and  flushed  a  little. 

"  I  love  good  Aunt  Medea  so  much !  "  said  she.  "  I 
never  can  forget  all  the  affection  and  devotion  she  lav- 
ished upon  me  when  I  was  so  unhappy." 

It  was  such  a  plausible  explanation  that  Martial 
took  no  further  notice  of  the  matter,  for  his  mind  just 
then  was  fully  occupied. 

The  agent,  whom  he  had  sent  to  Paris  in  advance, 
to  purchase,  if  possible,  the  Hotel  de  Sairmeuse,  had 
written  him  to  make  all  possible  haste,  as  there  was 
some  difficulty  about  concluding  the  bargain. 

"  Plague  take  the  fellow !  "  said  the  marquis,  angrily, 
on  receiving  this  news.  "  He  is  quite  stupid  enough 
to  let  this  opportunity,  for  which  we  have  been  waiting 
ten  years,  slip  through  his  fingers.  I  shall  find  no 
pleasure  in  Paris  if  I  cannot  own  our  old  residence." 

He  was  so  impatient  to  reach  Paris  that,  on  the 
second  day  of  their  journey,  he  declared  if  he  were 
alone  he  would  travel  all  night. 

"  Do  so  now,"  said  Blanche,  graciously ;  "  I  do  not 
feel  fatigued  in  the  least,  and  a  night  of  travel  does  not 
appall  me." 

They  did  travel  all  night,  and  the  next  day,  about 
nine  o\:lock,  they  alighted  at  the  Hotel  Meurice. 


526        THE   HONOR   OF   THE    NAME 

Martial  scarcely  took  time  to  eat  his  breakfast. 

"  I  must  go  and  see  my  agent  at  once,"  he  said,  as 
he  hurried  off.  "  I  will  soon  be  back." 

He  reappeared  in  about  two  hours,  pleased  and  radi- 
ant. 

"  My  agent  was  a  simpleton,"  he  exclaimed.  "  He 
was  afraid  to  write  me  that  a  man,  upon  whom  the  con- 
clusion of  the  sale  depends,  demands  a  bonus  of  fifty 
thousand  francs.  He  shall  have  it  in  welcome." 

Then,  in  a  tone  of  gallantry,  which  he  always  used 
in  addressing  his  wife,  he  said : 

"  It  only  remains  for  me  to  sign  the  paper ;  but  I 
will  not  do  so  unless  the  house  suits  you.  If  you  are 
not  too  tired,  I  would  like  you  to  visit  it  at  once.  Time 
presses,  and  we  have  many  competitors." 

This  visit  was,  of  course,  one  of  pure  form ;  but 
Mme.  Blanche  would  have  been  hard  to  please  if  she 
had  not  been  satisfied  with  this  mansion,  one  of  the 
most  magnificent  in  Paris,  with  an  entrance  on  the 
Rue  de  Crenelle,  and  large  gardens  shaded  with  superb 
trees,  and  extending  to  the  Rue  de  Varennes. 

Unfortunately,  this  superb  dwelling  had  not  been 
occupied  for  several  years,  and  required  many  repairs. 

"  It  will  take  at  least  six  months  to  restore  it,"  said 
Martial ;  "  perhaps  more.  It  is  true  that  they  might  in 
three  months,  perhaps,  render  a  portion  of  it  very  com- 
fortable." 

"  It  would  be  living  in  one's  own  house,  at  least," 
approved  Blanche,  divining  her  husband's  wishes. 

"  Ah !  then  you  agree  with  me !  In  that  case,  you 
may  rest  assured  that  I  will  expedite  matters  as  much 
as  possible." 

In  spite,  or  rather  by  reason  of  his  immense  fortune, 
the  Marquis  de  Sairmeuse  knew  that  a  person  is  never 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    527 

so  well,  nor  so  quickly  served,  as  when  he  serves  him- 
self, so  he  resolved  to  take  the  matter  into  his  own 
hands.  He  conferred  with  architects,  interviewed  con- 
tractors, and  hurried  on  the  workmen. 

As  soon  as  he  was  up  in  the  morning  he  started  out 
without  waiting  for  breakfast,  and  seldom  returned  un- 
til dinner. 

Although  Blanche  was  compelled  to  pass  most  of 
her  time  within  doors,  on  account  of  the  bad  weather, 
she  was  not  inclined  to  complain.  Her  journey,  the 
unaccustomed  sights  and  sounds  of  Paris,  the  novelty 
of  life  in  a  hotel,  all  combined  to  distract  her  thoughts 
from  herself.  She  forgot  her  fears ;  a  sort  of  haze  en- 
veloped the  terrible  scene  at  the  Borderie ;  the  clamors 
of  conscience  sank  into  faint  whispers. 

The  past  seemed  fading  away,  and  she  was  begin- 
ning to  entertain  hopes  of  a  new  and  better  life,  when 
one  day  a  servant  entered,  and  said : 

;'  There  is  a  man  below  who  wishes  to  speak  with 
Madame." 

CHAPTER  LII 

Half  reclining  upon  a  sofa,  Mme.  Blanche  was 
listening  to  a  new  book  which  Aunt  Medea  was  reading 
aloud,  and  she  did  not  even  raise  her  head  as  the  ser- 
vant delivered  his  message. 

"A  man?"  she  asked,  carelessly;  "what  man?" 

She  was  expecting  no  one ;  it  must  be  one  of  the 
laborers  employed  by  Martial. 

"  I  cannot  inform  Madame,"  replied  the  servant. 
"  He  is  quite  a  young  man ;  is  dressed  like  a  peasant, 
and  is  perhaps  seeking  a  place." 

"  It  is  probably  the  marquis  whom  he  desires  to 
see." 


528         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

"  Madame  will  excuse  me,  but  he  said  particularly 
that  he  desired  to  speak  to  her." 

"  Ask  his  name  and  his  business,  then.  Go  on, 
aunt,"  she  added ;  "  we  have  been  interrupted  in  the 
most  interesting  portion." 

But  Aunt  Medea  had  not  time  to  finish  the  page 
when  the  servant  reappeared. 

"The  man  says  Madame  will  understand  his  busi- 
ness when  she  hears  his  name." 

"  And  his  name?  " 

"  Chupin." 

It  was  as  if  a  bomb-shell  had  exploded  in  the  room. 

Aunt  Medea,  with  a  shriek,  dropped  her  book,  and 
sank  back,  half  fainting,  in  her  chair. 

Blanche  sprang  up  with  a  face  as  colorless  as  her 
white  cashmere  peignoir,  her  eyes  troubled,  her  lips 
trembling. 

"  Chupin  !  "  she  repeated,  as  if  she  hoped  the  servant 
would  tell  her  she  had  not  understood  him  correctly; 
"  Chupin !  " 

Then  angrily : 

"  Tell  this  man  that  I  will  not  see  him,  I  will  not  see 
him,  do  you  hear?  " 

But  before  the  servant  had  time  to  bow  respectfully 
and  retire,  the  young  marquise  changed  her  mind. 

"  One  moment,"  said  she ;  "  on  reflection  I  think  I 
will  see  him.  Bring  him  up." 

The  servant  withdrew,  and  the  two  ladies  looked  at 
each  other  in  silent  consternation. 

"  It  must  be  one  of  Chupin's  sons,"  faltered  Blanche, 
at  last. 

"  Undoubtedly ;  but  what  does  he  desire  ?  " 

"  Money,  probably." 

Aunt  Medea  lifted  her  eyes  to  heaven. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    529 

"  God  grant  that  he  knows  nothing  of  your  meetings 
with  his  father !  Blessed  Jesus !  what  if  he  should 
know." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  despair  in  advance !  We 
shall  know  all  in  a  few  moments.  Pray  be  calm. 
Turn  your  back  to  us ;  look  out  into  the  street ;  do  not 
let  him  see  your  face.  But  why  is  he  so  long  in  com- 

ing?" 

Blanche  was  not  deceived.  It  was  Chupin's  eldest 
son  ;  the  one  to  whom  the  dying  poacher  had  confided 
his  secret. 

Since  his  arrival  in  Paris  he  had  been  running  the 
streets  from  morning  until  evening,  inquiring  every- 
where and  of  everybody  the  address  of  the  Marquis  de 
Sairmeuse.  At  last  he  discovered  it;  and  he  lost  no 
time  in  presenting  himself  at  the  Hotel  Meurice. 

He  was  now  awaiting  the  result  of  his  application  at 
the  entrance  of  the  hotel,  where  he  stood  whistling, 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  when  the  servant  re- 
turned, saying : 

"  She  consents  to  see  you ;  follow  me." 

Chupin  obeyed ;  but  the  servant,  greatly  astonished, 
and  on  fire  with  curiosity,  loitered  by  the  way  in  the 
hope  of  obtaining  some  explanation  from  this  country 
youth. 

"  I  do  not  say  it  to  flatter  you,  my  boy,"  he  remarked, 
"  but  your  name  produced  a  great  effect  upon  ma- 
dame." 

The  prudent  peasant  carefully  concealed  the  joy  he 
felt  on  receiving  this  information. 

"  How  does  it  happen  that  she  knows  you  ?  "  pur- 
sued the  servant.  "  Are  you  both  from  the  same 
place?  " 

"  I  am  her  foster-brother." 
34 


530         THE  HONOR   OF  THE  NAME 

The  servant  did  not  believe  a  word  of  this  response ; 
but  they  had  reached  the  apartment  of  the  marquise, 
he  opened  the  door  and  ushered  Chupin  into  the  room. 

The  peasant  had  prepared  a  little  story  in  advance, 
but  he  was  so  dazzled  by  the  magnificence  around  him 
that  he  stood  motionless  with  staring  eyes  and  gaping 
mouth.  His  wonder  was  increased  by  a  large  mirror 
opposite  the  door,  in  which  he  could  survey  himself 
from  head  to  foot,  and  by  the  beautiful  flowers  on  the 
carpet,  which  he  feared  to  crush  beneath  his  heavy 
shoes. 

After  a  moment,  Mme.  Blanche  decided  to  break  the 
silence. 

"  What  do  you  wish  ?  "  she  demanded. 

With  many  circumlocutions  Chupin  explained  that 
he  had  been  obliged  to  leave  Sairmeuse  on  account  of 
the  numerous  enemies  he  had  there,  that  he  had  been 
unable  to  find  his  father's  hidden  treasure,  and  that  he 
was  consequently  without  resources. 

"  Enough !  "  interrupted  Mme.  Blanche.  Then  in  a 
manner  not  in  the  least  friendly,  she  continued :  "  I  do 
not  understand  why  you  should  apply  to  me.  You 
and  all  the  rest  of  your  family  have  anything  but  an 
enviable  reputation  in  Sairmeuse;  still,  as  you  are 
from  that  part  of  the  country,  I  am  willing  to  aid  you  a 
little  on  condition  that  you  do  not  apply  to  me  again." 

Chupin  listened  to  this  homily  with  a  half-cringing, 
half-impudent  air ;  when  it  was  finished  he  lifted  his 
head,  and  said,  proudly : 

"  I  do  not  ask  for  alms." 

"  What  do  you  ask  then  ?  " 

"  My  dues." 

The  heart  of  Mme.  Blanche  sank,  and  yet  she  had 
courage  to  cast  a  glance  of  disdain  upon  the  speaker, 
and  said : 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    531 

"  Ah !  do  I  owe  you  anything  ?  " 

"  You  owe  me  nothing  personally,  Madame ;  but 
you  owe  a  heavy  debt  to  my  deceased  father.  In 
whose  service  did  he  perish  ?  Poor  old  man !  he  loved 
you  devotedly.  His  last  words  were  of  you.  '  A  ter- 
rible thing  has  just  happened  at  the  Borderie,  my  boy/ 
said  he.  '  The  young  marquise  hated  Marie-Anne, 
and  she  has  poisoned  her.  Had  it  not  been  for  me  she 
would  have  been  lost.  I  am  about  to  die ;  let  the 
whole  blame  rest  upon  me ;  it  will  not  hurt  me,  and  it 
will  save  the  young  lady.  And  afterward  she  will  re- 
ward you ;  and  as  long  as  you  keep  the  secret  you  will 
want  for  nothing.' ': 

Great  as  was  his  impudence,  he  paused,  amazed  by 
the  perfectly  composed  face  of  the  listener. 

In  the  presence  of  such  wonderful  dissimulation  he 
almost  doubted  the  truth  of  his  father's  story. 

The  courage  and  heroism  displayed  by  the  marquise 
were  really  wonderful.  She  felt  if  she  yielded  once, 
she  would  forever  be  at  the  mercy  of  this  wretch,  as  she 
was  already  at  the  mercy  of  Aunt  Medea. 

"  In  other  words,"  said  she,  calmly,  "  you  accuse  me 
of  the  murder  of  Mademoiselle  Lacheneur;  and  you 
threaten  to  denounce  me  if  I  do  not  yield  to  your  de- 
mands." 

Chupin  nodded  his  head  in  acquiescence. 

"  Very  well !  "  said  the  marquise ;  "  since  this  is  the 
case — go !  " 

It  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  she  would,  by  her  audacity, 
win  this  dangerous  game  upon  which  her  future  peace 
depended.  Chupin,  greatly  abashed,  was  standing 
there  undecided  what  course  to  pursue  when  Aunt 
Medea,  who  was  listening  by  the  window,  turned  in 
affright,  crying: 


532         THE  HONOR   OF  THE  NAME 

"  Blanche !  your  husband — Martial !  He  is  com- 
ing!" 

The  game  was  lost.  Blanche  saw  her  husband  en- 
tering, finding  Chupin,  conversing  with  him,  and  dis- 
covering all ! 

Her  brain  whirled ;  she  yielded. 

She  hastily  thrust  her  purse  in  Chupin's  hand  and 
dragged  him  through  an  inner  door  and  to  the  servants' 
staircase. 

"  Take  this,"  she  said,  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "  I  will 
see  you  again.  And  not  a  word — not  a  word  to  my 
husband,  remember !  " 

She  had  been  wise  to  yield  in  time.  When  she  re- 
entered  the  salon,  she  found  Martial  there. 

His  head  was  bowed  upon  his  breast;  he  held  an 
open  letter  in  his  hand. 

He  looked  up  when  his  wife  entered  the  room,  and 
she  saw  a  tear  in  his  eye. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  she  faltered. 

Martial  did  not  remark  her  emotion. 

"  My  father  is  dead,  Blanche,"  he  replied. 

"  The  Due  de  Sairmeuse !  My  God !  how  did  it 
happen  ?  " 

"  He  was  thrown  from  his  horse,  in  the  forest,  near 
the  Sanguille  rocks." 

"  Ah !  it  was  there  where  my  poor  father  was  nearly 
murdered." 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  very  place." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

Martial's  affection  for  his  father  had  not  been  very 
deep,  and  he  was  well  aware  that  his  father  had  but  lit- 
tle love  for  him.  He  was  astonished  at  the  bitter  grief 
he  felt  on  hearing  of  his  death. 

"  From  this  letter  which  was  forwarded  by  a  mes- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    533 

senger  from  Sairmeuse,"  he  continued,  "  I  judge  that 
everybody  believes  it  to  have  been  an  accident ;  but  I — 
I " 

"Well?" 

"  I  believe  he  was  murdered." 

An  exclamation  of  horror  escaped  Aunt  Medea,  and 
Blanche  turned  pale. 

"  Murdered  !  "   she  whispered. 

"  Yes,  Blanche ;  and  I  could  name  the  murderer. 
Oh !  I  am  not  deceived.  The  murderer  of  my  father 
is  the  same  man  who  attempted  to  assassinate  the  Mar- 
quis de  Courtornieu " 

"  Jean  Lacheneur !  " 

Martial  gravely  bowed  his  head.  It  was  his  only  re- 
ply. 

"  And  you  will  not  denounce  him  ?  You  will  not  de- 
mand justice?  " 

Martial's  face  grew  more  and  more  gloomy. 

"  What  good  would  it  do  ?  "  he  replied.  "  I  have  no 
material  proofs  to  give,  and  justice  demands  incon- 
testable evidence." 

Then,  as  if  communing  with  his  own  thoughts, 
rather  than  addressing  his  wife,  he  said,  despondently : 

"  The  Due  de  Sairmeuse  and  the  Marquis  de  Court- 
ornieu have  reaped  what  they  have  sown.  The  blood 
of  murdered  innocence  always  calls  for  vengeance. 
Sooner  or  later,  the  guilty  must  expiate  their  crimes." 

Blanche  shuddered.  Each  word  found  an  echo  in 
her  own  soul.  Had  he  intended  his  words  for  her,  he 
would  not  have  expressed  himself  differently. 

"  Martial,"  said  she,  trying  to  arouse  him  from  his 
gloomy  revery,  "  Martial." 

He  did  not  seem  to  hear  her,  and,  in  the  same  tone, 
he  continued : 


534         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

"  These  Lacheneurs  were  happy  and  honored  before 
our  arrival  at  Sairmeuse.  Their  conduct  was  above  all 
praise  ;  their  probity  amounted  to  heroism.  We  might 
have  made  them  our  faithful  and  devoted  friends.  It 
was  our  duty,  as  well  as  in  our  interests,  to  have  done 
so.  We  did  not  understand  this  ;  we  humiliated,  ruined, 
exasperated  them.  It  was  a  fault  for  which  we  must 
atone.  Who  knows  but,  in  Jean  Lacheneur's  place,  I 
should  have  done  what  he  has  done  ?  " 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  then,  with  one  of  those 
sudden  inspirations  that  sometimes  enable  one  almost 
to  read  the  future,  he  resumed : 

"  I  know  Jean  Lacheneur.  I  alone  can  fathom  his 
hatred,  and  I  know  that  he  lives  only  in  the  hope  of  ven- 
geance. It  is  true  that  we  are  very  high  and  he  is  very 
low,  but  that  matters  little.  We  have  everything  to 
fear.  Our  millions  form  a  rampart  around  us,  but  he 
will  know  how  to  open  a  breach.  And  no  precautions 
will  save  us.  At  the  very  moment  when  we  feel  our- 
selves secure,  he  will  be  ready  to  strike.  What  he  will 
attempt,  I  know  not ;  but  his  will  be  a  terrible  revenge. 
Remember  my  words,  Blanche,  if  ruin  ever  threatens 
our  house,  it  will  be  Jean  Lacheneur's  work." 

Aunt  Medea  and  her  niece  were  too  horror-stricken 
to  articulate  a  word,  and  for  five  minutes  no  sound 
broke  the  stillness  save  Martial's  monotonous  tread, 
as  he  paced  up  and  down  the  room. 

At  last  he  paused  before  his  wife. 

"  I  have  just  ordered  post-horses.  You  will  excuse 
me  for  leaving  you  here  alone.  I  must  go  to  Sairmeuse 
at  once.  I  shall  not  be  absent  more  than  a  week." 

He  departed  from  Paris  a  few  hours  later,  and 
Blanche  was  left  a  prey  to  the  most  intolerable  anxiety. 
She  suffered  more  now  than  during  the  days  that  im- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    535 

mediately  followed  her  crime.  It  was  not  against  phan- 
toms she  was  obliged  to  protect  herself  now;  Chupin 
existed,  and  his  voice,  even  if  it  were  not  as  terrible  as 
the  voice  of  conscience,  might  make  itself  heard  at 
any  moment. 

If  she  had  known  where  to  find  him,  she  would  have 
gone  to  him,  and  endeavored,  by  the  payment  of  a 
large  sum  of  money,  to  persuade  him  to  leave  France. 

But  Chupin  had  left  the  hotel  without  giving  her  his 
address. 

The  gloomy  apprehension  expressed  by  Martial  in- 
creased the  fears  of  the  young  marquise.  The  mere 
sound  of  the  name  Lacheneur  made  her  shrink  with 
terror.  She  could  not  rid  herself  of  the  idea  that  Jean 
Lacheneur  suspected  her  guilt,  and  that  he  was  watch- 
ing her. 

Her  wish  to  find  Marie-Anne's  infant  was  stronger 
than  ever. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  child  might  be  a  protection 
to  her  some  day.  But  where  could  she  find  an  agent 
in  whom  she  could  confide? 

At  last  she  remembered  that  she  had  heard  her  father 
speak  of  a  detective  by  the  name  of  Chefteux,  an  ex- 
ceedingly shrewd  fellow,  capable  of  anything,  even 
honesty  if  he  were  well  paid. 

The  man  was  really  a  miserable  wretch,  one  of 
Fouche's  vilest  instruments,  who  had  served  and  be- 
trayed all  parties,  and  who,  at  last,  had  been  convicted 
of  perjury,  but  had  somehow  managed  to  escape  pun- 
ishment. 

After  his  dismissal  from  the  police-force,  Chefteux 
founded  a  bureau  of  private  information. 

After  several  inquiries,  Mme.  Blanche  discovered 
that  he  lived  in  the  Place  Dauphine;  and  she  deter- 


536        THE    HONOR    OF   THE    NAME 

mined  to  take  advantage  of  her  husband's  absence  to 
pay  the  detective  a  visit. 

One  morning  she  donned  her  simplest  dress,  and, 
accompanied  by  Aunt  Medea,  repaired  to  the  house 
of  Chefteux. 

He  was  then  about  thirty-four  years  of  age,  a  man 
of  medium  height,  of  inoffensive  mien,  and  who 
affected  an  unvarying  good-humor. 

He  invited  his^  clients  into  a  nicely  furnished  draw- 
ing-room, and  Mme.  Blanche  at  once  began  telling 
him  that  she  was  married,  and  living  in  the  Rue  Saint- 
Denis,  that  one  of  her  sisters,  who  had  lately  died,  had 
been  guilty  of  an  indiscretion,  and  that  she  was  ready 
to  make  any  sacrifice  to  find  this  sister's  child,  etc.. 
etc.  A  long  story,  which  she  had  prepared  in  advance, 
and  which  sounded  very  plausible. 

Chefteux  did  not  believe  a  word  of  it,  however;  for, 
as  soon  as  it  was  ended,  he  tapped  her  familiarly  on 
the  shoulder,  and  said : 

"  In  short,  my  dear,  we  have  had  our  little  escapades 
before  our  marriage." 

She  shrank  back  as  if  from  some  venomous  reptile. 

To  be  treated  thus  !  she — a  Courtornieu — Duchesse 
de  Sairmeuse ! 

"  I  think  you  are  laboring  under  a  wrong  impres- 
sion," she  said,  haughtily. 

He  made  haste  to  apologize ;  but  while  listening  to 
further  details  given  him  by  the  young  lady,  he 
thought : 

"  What  an  eye !  what  a  voice ! — they  are  not  suited 
to  a  denizen  of  the  Saint-Denis  !  " 

His  suspicions  were  confirmed  by  the  reward  of 
twenty  thousand  francs,-  which  Mme.  Blanche  im- 
prudently promised  him  in  case  of  success,  and  by  the 
five  hundred  francs  which  she  paid  in  advance. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    537 

"  And  where  shall  I  have  the  honor  of  addressing 
my  communications  to  you,  Madame?"  he  inquired. 

"  Nowhere,"  replied  the  young  lady.  "  I  shall  be 
passing  here  from  time  to  time,  and  I  will  call." 

When  they  left  the  house,  Chefteux  followed  them. 

"  For  once,"  he  thought,  "  I  believe  that  fortune 
smiles  upon  me." 

To  discover  the  name  and  rank  of  his  new  clients 
was  but  child's  play  to  Fouche's  former  pupil. 

His  task  was  all  the  easier  since  they  had  no  suspicion 
whatever  of  his  designs.  Mme.  Blanche,  who  had 
heard  his  powers  of  discernment  so  highly  praised,  was 
confident  of  success. 

All  the  way  back  to  the  hotel  she  was  congratulating 
herself  upon  the  step  she  had  taken. 

"  In  less  than  a  month,"  she  said  to  Aunt  Medea, 
"  we  shall  have  the  child ;  and  it  will  be  a  protection  to 
us." 

But  the  following  week  she  realized  the  extent  of 
her  imprudence.  On  visiting  Chefteux  again,  she  was 
received  with  such  marks  of  respect  that  she  saw  at 
once  she  was  known. 

She  made  an  attempt  to  deceive  him,  but  the  detec- 
tive checked  her. 

"  First  of  all,"  he  said,  with  a  good-humored  smile, 
"  I  ascertain  the  identity  of  the  persons  who  honor  me 
with  their  confidence.  It  is  a  proof  of  my  ability, 
which  I  give,  gratis.  But  Madame  need  have  no  fears. 
I  am  discreet  by  nature  and  by  profession.  Many 
ladies  of  the  highest  ranks  are  in  the  position  of 
Madame  la  Duchesse  !  " 

So  Chefteux  still  believed  that  the  Duchesse  de  Sair- 
meuse  was  searching  for  her  own  child. 

She  did  not  try  to  convince  him  to  the  contrary.    It 


538         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

was  better  that  he  should  believe  this  than  suspect  the 
truth. 

The  condition  of  Mme.  Blanche  was  now  truly  piti- 
able. She  found  herself  entangled  in  a  net,  and  each 
movement  far  from  freeing  her,  tightened  the  meshes 
around  her. 

Three  persons  knew  the  secret  that  threatened  her 
life  and  honor.  Under  these  circumstances,  how  could 
she  hope  to  keep  that  secret  inviolate  ?  She  was,  more- 
over, at  the  mercy  of  three  unscrupulous  masters ;  and 
before  a  word,  or  a  gesture,  or  a  look  from  them,  her 
haughty  spirit  was  compelled  to  bow  in  meek  sub- 
servience. 

And  her  time  was  no  longer  at  her  own  disposal. 
Martial  had  returned ;  and  they  had  taken  up  their 
abode  at  the  Hotel  de  Sairmeuse. 

The  young  duchess  was  now  compelled  to  live  under 
the  scrutiny  of  fifty  servants — of  forty  enemies,  more 
or  less,  interested  in  watching  her,  in  criticising  her 
every  act,  and  in  discovering  her  inmost  thoughts. 

Aunt  Medea,  it  is  true,  was  of  great  assistance  to  her. 
Blanche  purchased  a  dress  for  her,  whenever  she  pur- 
chased one  for  herself,  took  her  about  with  her  on  all 
occasions,  and  the  humble  relative  expressed  her  satis- 
faction in  the  most  enthusiastic  terms,  and  declared  her 
willingness  to  do  anything  for  her  benefactress. 

Nor  did  Chefteux  give  Mme.  Blanche  much  more 
annoyance.  Every  three  months  he  presented  a 
memorandum  of  the  expenses  of  investigations,  which 
usually  amounted  to  about  ten  thousand  francs;  and 
so  long  as  she  paid  him  it  was  plain  that  he  would  be 
silent. 

He  had  given  her  to  understand,  however,  that  he 
should  expect  an  annuity  of  twenty-four  thousand 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    539 

francs ;  and  once,  when  Mme.  Blanche  remarked  that 
he  must  abandon  the  search,  if  nothing  had  been  dis- 
covered at  the  end  of  two  years : 

"  Never,"  he  replied :  "  I  shall  continue  the  search 
as  long  as  I  live."  But  Chupin,  unfortunately,  re- 
mained ;  and  he  was  a  constant  terror. 

She  had  been  compelled  to  give  him  twenty  thou- 
sand francs,  to  begin  with. 

He  declared  that  his  younger  brother  had  come  to 
Paris  in  pursuit  of  him,  accusing  him  of  having  stolen 
their  father's  hoard,  and  demanding  his  share  with  his 
dagger  in  his  hand. 

There  had  been  a  battle,  and  it  was  with  a  head 
bound  up  in  a  blood-stained  linen,  that  Chupin  made 
his  appearance  before  Mme.  Blanche. 

"  Give  me  the  sum  that  the  old  man  buried,  and  I 
will  allow  my  brother  to  think  that  I  had  stolen  it.  It 
is  not  very  pleasant  to  be  regarded  as  a  thief,  when 
one  is  an  honest  man,  but  I  will  bear  it  for  your  sake. 
If  you  refuse,  I  shall  be  compelled  to  tell  him  where  I 
have  obtained  my  money  and  how." 

If  he  possessed  all  the  vices,  depravity,  and  cold- 
blooded perversity  of  his  father,  this  wretch  had  in- 
herited neither  his  intelligence  nor  his  finesse. 

Instead  of  taking  the  precautions  which  his  interest 
required,  he  seemed  to  find  a  brutal  pleasure  in  com- 
promising the  duchess. 

He  was  a  constant  visitor  at  the  Hotel  de  Sairmeuse. 
He  came  and  went  at  all  hours,  morning,  noon,  and 
night,  without  troubling  himself  in  the  least  about 
Martial. 

And  the  servants  were  amazed  to  see  their  haughty 
mistress  unhesitatingly  leave  everything  at  the  call  of 
this  suspicious-looking  character,  who  smelled  so 
strongly  of  tobacco  and  vile  brandy. 


540         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

One  evening,  while  a  grand  entertainment  was  in 
progress  at  the  Hotel  de  Sairmeuse,  he  made  his  ap- 
pearance, half  drunk,  and  imperiously  ordered  the  ser- 
vants to  go  and  tell  Mme.  Blanche  that  he  was  there, 
and  that  he  was  waiting  for  her. 

She  hastened  to  him  in  her  magnificent  evening- 
dress,  her  face  white  with  rage  and  shame  beneath  her 
tiara  of  diamonds.  And  when,  in  her  exasperation,  she 
refused  to  give  the  wretch  what  he  demanded : 

"  That  is  to  say,  I  am  to  starve  while  you  are  revel- 
ling here !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  am  not  such  a  fool. 
Give  me  money,  and  instantly,  or  I  will  tell  all  I  know 
here  and  now !  " 

What  could  she  do?  She  was  obliged  to  yield,  as 
she  had  always  done  before. 

And  yet  he  grew  more  and  more  insatiable  every  day. 
Money  remained  in  his  pockets  no  longer  than  water 
remains  in  a  sieve.  But  he  did  not  think  of  elevating 
his  vices  to  the  proportions  of  the  fortune  which  he 
squandered.  He  did  not  even  provide  himself  with 
decent  clothing;  from  his  appearance  one- would  have 
supposed  him  a  beggar,  and  his  companions  were  the 
vilest  and  most  degraded  of  beings. 

One  night  he  was  arrested  in  a  low  den,  and  the 
police,  surprised  at  seeing  so  much  gold  in  the  posses- 
sion of  such  a  beggarly  looking  wretch,  accused  him 
of  being  a  thief.  He  mentioned  the  name  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Sairmeuse. 

An  inspector  of  the  police  presented  himself  at  the 
Hotel  de  Sairmeuse  the  following  morning.  Martial, 
fortunately,  was  in  Vienna  at  the  time. 

And  Mme.  Blanche  was  forced  to  undergo  the  ter- 
rible humiliation  of  confessing  that  she  had  given  a 
large  sum  of  money  to  this  man,  whose  family  she  had 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    541 

known,  and  who,  she  added,  had  once  rendered  her  an 
important  service. 

Sometimes  her  tormentor  changed  his  tactics. 

For  example,  he  declared  that  he  disliked  to  come 
to  the  Hotel  de  Sairmeuse,  that  the  servants  treated 
him  as  if  he  were  a  mendicant,  that  after  this  he  would 
write. 

And  in  a  day  or  two  there  would  come  a  letter  bid- 
ding her  bring  such  a  sum,  to  such  a  place,  at  such  an 
hour. 

And  the  proud  duchess  was  always  punctual  at  the 
rendezvous. 

There  was  constantly  some  new  invention,  as  if  he 
found  an  intense  delight  in  proving  his  power  and  in 
abusing  it. 

He  had  met,  Heaven  knows  where  !  a  certain  Aspasie 
Clapard,  to  whom  he  took  a  violent  fancy,  and  al- 
though she  was  much  older  than  himself,  he  wished  to 
marry  her.  Mme.  Blanche  paid  for  the  wedding-feast. 

Again  he  announced  his  desire  of  establishing  him- 
self in  business,  having  resolved,  he  said,  to  live  by  his 
own  exertions.  He  purchased  the  stock  of  a  wine  mer- 
chant, which  the  duchess  paid  for,  and  which  he  drank 
in  no  time. 

His  wife  gave  birth  to  a  child,  and  Mme.  de  Sair- 
meuse must  pay  for  the  baptism  as  she  had  paid  for 
the  wedding,  only  too  happy  that  Chupin  did  not  re- 
quire her  to  stand  as  godmother  to  little  Polyte.  He 
had  entertained  this  idea  at  first. 

On  two  occasions  Mme.  Blanche  accompanied  her 
husband  to  Vienna  and  to  London,  whither  he  went 
charged  with  important  diplomatic  missions.  She  re- 
mained three  years  in  foreign  lands. 


542         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

Each  week  during  all  that  time  she  received  one 
letter,  at  least,  from  Chupin. 

Ah !  many  a  time  she  envied  the  lot  of  her  victim ! 
What  was  Marie-Anne's  death  compared  with  the  life 
she  led? 

Her  sufferings  were  measured  by  years,  Marie- 
Anne's  by  minutes ;  and  she  said  to  herself,  again  and 
again,  that  the  torture  of  poison  could  not  be  as  in- 
tolerable as  her  agony. 


CHAPTER  LIII 

How  was  it  that  Martial  had  failed  to  discover  or  to 
suspect  this  state  of  affairs  ? 

A  moment's  reflection  will  explain  this  fact  which 
is  so  extraordinary  in  appearance,  so  natural  in  reality. 

The  head  of  a  family,  whether  he  dwells  in  an  attic 
or  in  a  palace,  is  always  the  last  to  know  what  is  going 
on  in  his  home.  What  everybody  else  knows  he  does 
not  even  suspect.  The  master  often  sleeps  while  his 
house  is  on  fire.  Some  terrible  catastrophe — an  ex- 
plosion— is  necessary  to  arouse  him  from  his  fancied 
security. 

The  life  that  Martial  led  was  likely  to  prevent  him 
from  arriving  at  the  truth.  He  was  a  stranger  to  his 
wife.  His  manner  toward  her  was  perfect,  full  of  defer- 
ence and  chivalrous  courtesy ;  but  they  had  nothing  in 
common  except  a  name  and  certain  interests. 

Each  lived  their  own  life.  They  met  only  at  dinner, 
or  at  the  entertainments  which  they  gave  and  which 
were  considered  the  most  brilliant  in  Paris  society. 

The  duchess  had  her  own  apartments,  her  servants, 
her  carriages,  her  horses,  her  own  table. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME   543 

At  twenty-five,  Martial,  the  last  descendant  of  the 
great  house  of  Sairmeuse — a  man  upon  whom  destiny 
had  apparently  lavished  every  blessing — the  possessor 
of  youth,  unbounded  wealth,  and  a  brilliant  intellect, 
succumbed  beneath  the  burden  of  an  incurable  despond- 
ency and  ennui. 

The  death  of  Marie- Anne  had  destroyed  all  his  hopes 
of  happiness ;  and  realizing  the  emptiness  of  his  life, 
he  did  his  best  to  fill  the  void  with  bustle  and  excite- 
ment. He  threw  himself  headlong  into  politics,  striv- 
ing to  find  in  power  and  in  satisfied  ambition  some  re- 
lief from  his  despondency. 

It  is  only  just  to  say  that  Mme.  Blanche  had  re- 
mained superior  to  circumstances ;  and  that  she  had 
played  the  role  of  a  happy,  contented  woman  with  con- 
summate skill. 

Her  frightful  sufferings  and  anxiety  never  marred 
the  haughty  serenity  of  her  face.  She  soon  won  a 
place  as  one  of  the  queens  of  Parisian  society;  and 
plunged  into  dissipation  with  a  sort  of  frenzy.  Was 
she  endeavoring  to  divert  her  mind  ?  Did  she  hope  to 
overpower  thought  by  excessive  fatigue? 

To  Aunt  Medea  alone  did  Blanche  reveal  her  secret 
heart. 

"  I  am  like  a  culprit  who  has  been  bound  to  the  scaf- 
fold, and  then  abandoned  by  the  executioner,  who  says, 
as  he  departs :  '  Live  until  the  axe  falls  of  its  own 
accord.' ' 

And  the  axe  might  fall  at  any  moment.  A  word,  a 
trifle,  an  unlucky  chance — she  dared  not  say  "  a  decree 
of  Providence,"  and  Martial  would  know  all. 

Such,  in  all  its  unspeakable  horror,  was  the  position 
of  the  beautiful  and  envied  Duchesse  de  Sairmeuse. 
"  She  must  be  perfectly  happy,"  said  the  world ;  but 


544         THE  HONOR   OF  THE  NAME 

she  felt  herself  sliding  down  the  precipice  to  the  awful 
depths  below. 

Like  a  shipwrecked  mariner  clinging  to  a  floating 
spar,  she  scanned  the  horizon  with  a  despairing  eye, 
and  saw  only  angry  and  threatening  clouds. 

Time,  perhaps,  might  bring  her  some  relief. 

Once  it  happened  that  six  weeks  went  by,  and  she 
heard  nothing  from  Chupin.  A  month  and  a  half! 
What  had  become  of  him?  To  Mme.  Blanche  this  si- 
lence was  as  ominous  as  the  calm  that  precedes  the 
storm. 

A  line  in  a  newspaper  solved  the  mystery. 

Chupin  was  in  prison. 

The  wretch,  after  drinking  more  heavily  than  usual 
one  evening,  had  quarrelled  with  his  brother,  and  had 
killed  him  by  a  blow  upon  the  head  with  a  piece  of  iron. 

The  blood  of  the  betrayed  Lacheneur  was  visited 
upon  the  heads  of  his  murderer's  children. 

Tried  by  the  Court  of  Assizes,  Chupin  was  con- 
demned to  twenty  years  of  hard  labor,  and  sent  to 
Brest. 

But  this  sentence  afforded  the  duchess  no  relief.  The 
culprit  had  written  to  her  from  his  Paris  prison;  he 
wrote  to  her  from  Brest. 

But  he  did  not  send  his  letters  through  the  post.  He 
confided  them  to  comrades,  whose  terms  of  imprison- 
ment had  expired,  and  who  came  to  the  Hotel  de  Sair- 
meuse  demanding  an  interview  with  the  duchess. 

And  she  received  them.  They  told  all  the  miseries 
they  had  endured  "  out  there ;  "  and  usually  ended  by 
requesting  some  slight  assistance. 

One  morning,  a  man  whose  desperate  appearance 
and  manner  frightened  her,  brought  the  duchess  this 
laconic  epistle : 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    545 

"  I  am  tired  of  starving  here ;  I  wish  to  make  my  es- 
cape. Come  to  Brest ;  you  can  visit  the  prison,  and  we 
will  decide  upon  some  plan.  If  you  refuse  to  do  this, 
I  shall  apply  to  the  duke,  who  will  obtain  my  pardon 
in  exchange  of  what  I  will  tell  him." 

Mme.  Blanche  was  dumb  with  horror.  It  was  im- 
possible, she  thought,  to  sink  lower  than  this. 

"  Well !  "  demanded  the  man,  harshly.  "  What  reply 
shall  I  make  to  my  comrade  ?  " 

"  I  will  go — tell  him  that  I  will  go !  "  she  said,  driven 
to  desperation. 

She  made  the  journey,  visited  the  prison,  but  did  not 
find  Chupin. 

The  previous  week  there  had  been  a  revolt  in  the 
prison,  the  troops  had  fired  upon  the  prisoners,  and 
Chupin  had  been  killed  instantly. 

Still  the  duchess  dared  not  rejoice. 

She  feared  that  her  tormentor  had  told  his  wife  the 
secret  of  his  power. 

"  I  shall  soon  know,"  she  thought. 

The  widow  promptly  made  her  appearance;  but  her. 
manner  was  humble  and  supplicating. 

She  had  often  heard  her  dear,  dead  husband  say  that 
madame  was  his  benefactress.,  and  now  she  came  to 
beg  a  little  aid  to  enable  her  to  open  a  small  drinking 
saloon. 

Her  son  Polyte — ah  !  such  a  good  son  !  just  eighteen 
years  old,  and  such  a  help  to  his  poor  mother — had 
discovered  a  little  house  in  a  good  situation  for  the 
business,  and  if  they  only  had  three  or  four  hundred 
francs 

Mme.  Blanche  gave  her  five  hundred  francs. 

"  Either  her  humility  is  a  mask,"  she  thought,  "  or 
her  husband  has  told  her  nothing." 
35 


546        THE   HONOR    OF   THE    NAME 

Five  days  later  Polyte  Chupin  presented  himself. 

They  needed  three  hundred  francs  more  before  they 
could  commence  business,  and  he  came  on  behalf  of 
his  mother  to  entreat  the  kind  lady  to  advance  them. 

Determined  to  discover  exactly  where  she  stood,  the 
duchess  shortly  refused,  and  the  young  man  departed 
without  a  word. 

Evidently  the  mother  and  son  were  ignorant  of  the 
facts.  Chupin's  secret  had  died  with  him. 

This  happened  early  in  January.  Toward  the  last  of 
February,  Aunt  Medea  contracted  inflammation  of  the 
lungs  on  leaving  a  fancy  ball,  which  she  attended  in  an 
absurd  costume,  in  spite  of  all  the  attempts  which  her 
niece  made  to  dissuade  her. 

Her  passion  for  dress  killed  her.  Her  illness  lasted 
only  three  days ;  but  her  sufferings,  physical  and  men- 
tal, were  terrible. 

Constrained  by  her  fear  of  death  to  examine  her  own 
conscience,  she  saw  plainly  that  by  profiting  by  the 
crime  of  her  niece  she  had  been  as  culpable  as  if  she 
had  aided  her  in  committing  it.  She  had  been  very  de- 
vout in  former  years,  and  now  her  superstitious  fears 
were  reawakened  and  intensified.  Her  faith  returned, 
accompanied  by  a  cortege  of  terrors. 

"  I  am  lost !  "  she  cried  ;  "  I  am  lost !  " 

She  tossed  to  and  fro  upon  her  bed ;  she  writhed  and 
shrieked  as  if  she  already  saw  hell  opening  to  engulf 
her. 

She  called  upon  the  Holy  Virgin  and  upon  'all  the 
saints  to  protect  her.  She  entreated  God  to  grant  her 
time  for  repentance  and  for  expiation.  She  begged  to 
see  a  priest,  swearing  she  would  make  a  full  confession. 

Paler  than  the  dying  woman,  but  implacable, 
Blanche  watched  over  her,  aided  by  that  one  of  her  per- 
sonal attendants  in  whom  she  had  most  confidence. 


"  If  this  lasts  long,  I  shall  be  ruined,"  she  thought. 
"  I  shall  be  obliged  to  call  for  assistance,  and  she  will 
betray  me." 

It  did  not  last  long. 

The  patient's  delirium  was  succeeded  by  such  utter 
prostration  that  it  seemed  each  moment  would  be  her 
last. 

But  toward  midnight  she  appeared  to  revive  a  little, 
and  in  a  voice  of  intense  feeling,  slie  said : 

"  You  have  had  no  pity,  Blanche.  You  have  de- 
prived me  of  all  hope  in  the  life  to  come.  God  will  pun- 
ish you.  You,  too,  shall  die  like  a  dog ;  alone,  without 
a  word  of  Christian  counsel  or  encouragement.  I  curse 
you !  " 

And  she  died  just  as  the  clock  was  striking  two. 

The  time  when  Blanche  would  have  given  almost 
anything  to  know  that  Aunt  Medea  was  beneath  the 
sod,  had  long  since  passed. 

Now,  the  death  of  the  poor  old  woman  affected  her 
deeply. 

She  had  lost  an  accomplice  who  had  often  consoled 
her,  and  she  had  gained  nothing,  since  one  of  her  maids 
was  now  acquainted  with  the  secret  of  the  crime  at  the 
Borderie. 

Everyone  who  was  intimately  acquainted  with  the 
Duchesse  de  Sairmeuse,  noticed  her  dejection,  and  was 
astonished  by  it. 

"  Is  it  not  strange,"  remarked  her  friends,  "  that  the 
duchess — such  a  very  superior  woman — should  grieve 
so  much  for  that  absurd  relative  of  hers  ?  " 

But  the  dejection  of  Mme.  Blanche  was  due  in  great 
measure  to  the  sinister  prophecies  of  the  accomplice  to 
whom  she  had  denied  the  last  consolations  of  religion. 

And  as  her  mind  reviewed  the  past  she  shuddered,  as 


54«         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

the  peasants  at  Sairmeuse  had  done,  when  she  thought 
of  the  fatality  which  had  pursued  the  shedders  of  in- 
nocent blood. 

What  misfortune  had  attended  them  all — from  the 
sons  of  Chupin,  the  miserable  traitor,  up  to  her  father, 
the  Marquis  de  Courtornieu,  whose  mind  had  not  been 
illumined  by  the  least  gleam  of  reason  for  ten  long 
years  before  his  death. 

"  My  turn  will  come  !  "  she  thought. 

The  Baron  and  the  Baroness  d'Escorval,  and  old 
Corporal  Bavois  had  departed  this  life  within  a  month 
of  each  other,  the  previous  year,  mourned  by  all. 

So  that  of  all  the  people  of  diverse  condition  who 
had  been  connected  with  the  troubles  at  Montaignac, 
Blanche  knew  only  four  who  were  still  alive. 

Maurice  d'Escorval,  who  had  entered  the  magis- 
tracy, and  was  now  a  judge  in  the  tribunal  of  the  Seine ; 
Abbe  Midon,  who  had  come  to  Paris  with  Maurice, 
and  Martial  and  herself. 

There  was  another  person,  the  bare  recollection  of 
whom  made  her  tremble,  and  whose  name  she  dared 
not  utter. 

Jean  Lacheneur,  Marie-Anne's  brother. 

An  inward  voice,  more  powerful  than  reason,  told 
her  that  this  implacable  enemy  was  still  alive,  watch- 
ing for  his  hour  of  vengeance. 

More  troubled  by  her  presentiments  now,  than  she 
had  been  by  Chupin's  persecutions  in  days  gone  by, 
Mme.  de  Sairmeuse  decided  to  apply  to  Chefteux  in 
order  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  what  she  had  to  expect. 

Fouche's  former  agent  had  not  wavered  in  his  devo- 
tion to  the  duchess.  Every  three  months  he  presented 
his  bill,  which  was  paid  without  discussion ;  and  to  ease 
his  conscience,  he  sent  one  of  his  men  to  prowl  around 
Sairmeuse  for  a  while,  at  least  once  a  year. 


549 

Animated  by  the  hope  of  a  magnificent  reward,  the 
spy  promised  his  client,  and — what  was  more  to  the 
purpose — promised  himself,  that  he  would  discover 
this  dreaded  enemy. 

He  started  in  quest  of  him,  and  had  already  begun 
to  collect  proofs  of  Jean's  existence,  when  his  investi- 
gations were  abruptly  terminated. 

One  morning  the  body  of  a  man  literally  hacked  in 
pieces  was  found  in  an  old  well.  It  was  the  body  of 
Chefteux. 

"  A  fitting  close  to  the  career  of  such  a  wretch,"  said 
the  Journal  des  Debats,  in  noting  the  event. 

When  she  read  this  news,  Mme.  Blanche  felt  as  a 
culprit  would  feel  on  reading  his  death-warrant. 

'  The  end  is  near,"  she  murmured.  "  Lacheneur  is 
coming ! " 

The  duchess  was  not  mistaken. 

Jean  had  told  the  truth  when  he  declared  that  he 
was  not  disposing  of  his  sister's  estate  for  his  own 
benefit.  In  his  opinion,  Marie-Anne's  fortune  must  be 
consecrated  to  one  sacred  purpose  ;  he  would  not  divert 
the  slightest  portion  of  it  to  his  individual  needs. 

He  was  absolutely  penniless  when  the  manager  of  a 
travelling  theatrical  company  engaged  him  for  a  con- 
sideration of  forty-five  francs  per  month. 

From  that  day  he  lived  the  precarious  life  of  a  stroll- 
ing player.  He  was  poorly  paid,  and  often  reduced  to 
abject  poverty  by  lack  of  engagements,  or  by  the  im- 
pecuniosity  of  managers. 

His  hatred  had  lost  none  of  its  virulence ;  but  to 
wreak  the  desired  vengeance  upon  his  enemy,  he  must 
have  time  and  money  at  his  disposal. 

But  how  could  he  accumulate  money  when  he  was 
often  too  poor  to  appease  his  hunger  ? 


55o        THE   HONOR   OF   THE   NAME 

Still  he  did  not  renounce  his  hopes.  His  was  a  ran- 
cor which  was  only  intensified  by  years.  He  was  bid- 
ing his  time  while  he  watched  from  the  depths  of  his 
misery  the  brilliant  fortunes  of  the  house  of  Sairmeuse. 

He  had  waited  sixteen  years,  when  one  of  his  friends 
procured  him  an  engagement  in  Russia. 

The  engagement  was  nothing;  but  the  poor  come- 
dian was  afterward  fortunate  enough  to  obtain  an  in- 
terest in  a  theatrical  enterprise,  from  which  he  realized 
a  fortune  of  one  hundred  thousand  francs  in  less  than 
six  years. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  I  can  give  up  this  life.  I  am  rich 
enough,  now,  to  begin  the  warfare." 

And  six  weeks  later  he  arrived  in  his  native  village. 

Before  carrying  any  of  his  atrocious  designs  into 
execution,  he  went  to  Sairmeuse  to  visit  Marie-Anne's 
grave,  in  order  to  obtain  there  an  increase  of  animosity, 
as  well  as  the  relentless  sang-froid  of  a  stern  avenger 
of  crime. 

That  was  his  only  motive  in  going,  but,  on  the  very 
evening  of  his  arrival,  he  learned  through  a  garrulous 
old  peasant  woman  that  ever  since  his  departure — that 
is  to  say,  for  a  period  of  twenty  years — two  parties  had 
been  making  persistent  inquiries  for  a  child  which  had 
been  placed  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood. 

Jean  knew  that  it  was  Marie-Anne's  child  they  were 
seeking.  Why  they  had  not  succeeded  in  finding  it,  he 
knew  equally  well. 

But  why  were  there  two  persons  seeking  the  child  ? 
One  was  Maurice  d'Escorval,  of  course,  but  who  was 
the  other  ? 

Instead  of  remaining  at  Sairmeuse  a  week,  Jean 
Lacheneur  tarried  there  a  month ;  and  by  the  expira- 
tion of  that  month  he  had  traced  these  inquiries  con- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    551 

earning  the  child  to  the  agent  of  Chefteux.  Through 
him,  he  reached  Fouche's  former  spy;  and,  finally, 
succeeded  in  discovering  that  the  search  had  been  in- 
stituted by  no  less  a  person  than  the  Duchesse  de  Sair- 
meuse. 

This  discovery  bewildered  him.  How  could  Mme. 
Blanche  have  known  that  Marie-Anne  had  given  birth 
to  a  child ;  and  knowing  it,  what  possible  interest  could 
she  have  had  in  finding  it? 

These  two  questions  tormented  Jean's  mind  con- 
tinually ;  but  he  could  discover  no  satisfactory  answer. 

"  Chupin's  son  could  tell  me,  perhaps,"  he  thought. 
"  I  must  pretend  to  be  reconciled  to  the  sons  of  the 
wretch,  who  betrayed  my  father." 

But  the  traitor's  children  had  been  dead  for  several 
years,  and  after  a  long  search,  Jean  found  only  the 
Widow  Chupin  and  her  son,  Polyte. 

They  were  keeping  a  drinking-saloon  not  far  from 
the  Chateau-des-Rentiers ;  and  their  establishment, 
known  as  the  Poivriere,  bore  anything  but  an  enviable 
reputation. 

Lacheneur  questioned  the  widow  and  her  son  in 
vain ;  they  could  give  him  no  information  whatever  on 
the  subject.  He  told  them  his  name,  but  even  this  did 
not  awaken  the  slightest  recollection  in  their  minds. 

Jean  was  about  to  take  his  departure  when  Mother 
Chupin,  probably  in  the  hope  of  extracting  a  few 
pennies,  began  to  deplore  her  present  misery,  which 
was,  she  declared,  all  the  harder  to  bear  since  she  had 
wanted  for  nothing  during  the  life  of  her  poor  husband, 
who  had  always  obtained  as  much  money  as  he  wanted 
from  a  lady  of  high  degree — the  Duchesse  de  Sair- 
meuse,  in  short. 

Lacheneur  uttered  such  a  terrible  oath  that  the  old 
woman  and  her  son  started  back  in  affright. 


552         THE  HONOR   OF  THE  NAME 

He  saw  at  once  the  close  connection  between  the  re- 
searches of  Mme.  Blanche  and  her  generosity  to  Chupin. 

"  It  was  she  who  poisoned  Marie- Anne,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "  It  was  through  my  sister  that  she  became 
aware  of  the  existence  of  the  child.  She  loaded  Chupin 
with  favors  because  he  knew  the  crime  she  had  com- 
mitted— that  crime  in  which  his  father  had  been  only 
an  accomplice." 

He  remembered  Martial's  oath  at  the  bedside  of  the 
murdered  girl,  and  his  heart  overflowed  with  savage 
exultation.  He  saw  his  two  enemies,  the  last  of  the 
Sairmeuse  and  the  last  of  the  Courtornieu  take  in  their 
own  hands  his  work  .of  vengeance. 

But  this  was  mere  conjecture ;  he  desired  to  be  as- 
sured of  the  correctness  of  his  suppositions. 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  handful  of  gold,  and, 
throwing  it  upon  the  table,  he  said : 

"  I  am  very  rich ;  if  you  will  obey  me  and  keep  my 
secret,  your  fortune  is  made." 

A  shrill  cry  of  delight  from  mother  and  son  out- 
weighed any  protestations  of  obedience. 

The  Widow  Chupin  knew  how  to  write,  and  Lachc- 
neur  dictated  this  letter : 

"  MADAME  LA  DUCHESSE — I  shall  expect  you  at  my 
establishment  to-morrow  between  twelve  and  four 
o'clock.  It  is  on  business  connected  with  the  Borderie. 
If  at  five  o'clock  I  have  not  seen  you,  I  shall  carry  to 
the  post  a  letter  for  the  duke." 

"  And  if  she  comes  what  am  I  to  say  to  her?  "  asked 
the  astonished  widow. 

"  Nothing ;  you  will  merely  ask  her  for  money." 
"  If  she  comes,  it  is  as  I  have  guessed,"  he  re- 
flected. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME         553 

She  came. 

Hidden  in  the  loft  of  the  Poivriere,  Jean,  through 
an  opening  in  the  floor,  saw  the  duchess  give  a  bank- 
note to  Mother  Chupin. 

"  Now,  she  is  in  my  power!  "  he  thought  exultantly. 
"  Through  what  sloughs  of  degradation  will  I  drag  her 
before  I  deliver  her  up  to  her  husband's  vengeance ! " 


CHAPTER  LIV 

A  few  lines  of  the  article  consecrated  to  Martial  de 
Sairmeuse  in  the  "  General  Biography  of  the  Men  of 
the  Century,"  give  the  history  of  his  life  after  his  mar- 
riage. 

"  Martial  de  Sairmeuse,"  it  says,  there,  "  brought 
to  the  service  of  his  party  a  brilliant  intellect  and  ad- 
mirable endowments.  Called  to  the  front  at  the  mo- 
ment when  political  strife  was  raging  with  the  utmost 
violence,  he  had  courage  to  assume  the  sole  respon- 
sibility of  the  most  extreme  measures. 

"  Compelled  by  almost  universal  opprobrium  to  re- 
tire from  office,  he  left  behind  him  animosities  which 
will  be  extinguished  only  with  life." 

But  what  this  article  does  not  state  is  this :  if  Martial 
was  wrong — and  that  depends  entirely  upon  the  point 
of  view  from  which  his  conduct  is  regarded — he  was 
doubly  wrongt  since  he  was  not  possessed  of  those 
ardent  convictions  verging  upon  fanaticism  which 
make  men  fools,  heroes,  and  martyrs. 

He  was  not  even  ambitious. 

Those  associated  with  him,  witnessing  his  passion- 
ate struggle  and  his  unceasing  activity,  thought  him 
actuated  by  an  insatiable  thirst  for  power. 


554        THE    HONOR    OF   THE    NAME 

He  cared  little  or  nothing  for  it.  He  considered  its 
burdens  heavy;  its  compensations  small.  His  pride 
was  too  lofty  to  feel  any  satisfaction  in  the  applause 
that  delights  the  vain,  and  flattery  disgusted  him. 
Often,  in  his  princely  drawing-rooms,  during  some 
brilliant  fete,  his  acquaintances  noticed  a  shade  of 
gloom  steal  over  his  features,  and  seeing  him  thus 
thoughtful  and  preoccupied,  they  respectfully  refrained 
from  disturbing  him. 

"  His  mind  is  occupied  with  momentous  questions," 
they  thought.  "  Who  can  tell  what  important  de- 
cisions may  result  from  this  revery  ?  " 

They  were  mistaken. 

At  the  very  moment  when  his  brilliant  success  made 
his  rivals  pale  with  envy — when  it  would  seem  that  he 
had  nothing  left  to  wish  for  in  this  world,  Martial  was 
saying  to  himself: 

"  What  an  empty  life  !  What  weariness  and  vexation 
of  spirit !  To  live  for  others — what  a  mockery !  " 

He  looked  at  his  wife,  radiant  in  her  beauty,  wor- 
shipped like  a  queen,  and  he  sighed. 

He  thought  of  her  who  was  dead — Marie-Anne — 
the  only  woman  whom  he  had  ever  loved. 

She  was  never  absent  from  his  mind.  After  all  these 
years  he  saw  her  yet,  cold,  rigid,  lifeless,  in  that  luxu- 
rious room  at  the  Borderie  ;  and  time,  far  from  effacing 
the  image  of  the  fair  girl  who  had  won  his  youthful 
heart,  made  it  still  more  radiant  and  endowed  his  lost 
idol  with  almost  superhuman  grace  of  person  and  of 
character. 

If  fate  had  but  given  him  Marie- Anne  for  his  wife ! 
He  said  this  to  himself  again  and  again,  picturing  the 
exquisite  happiness  which  a  life  with  her  would  have 
afforded  him. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    555 

They  would  have  remained  at  Sairmeuse.  They 
would  have  had  lovely  children  playing  around  them ! 
He  would  not  be  condemned  to  this  continual  war- 
fare— to  this  hollow,  unsatisfying,  restless  life. 

The  truly  happy  are  not  those  who  parade  their  sat- 
isfaction and  good  fortune  before  the  eyes  of  the  mul- 
titude. The  truly  happy  hide  themselves  from  the 
curious  gaze,  and  they  are  right ;  happiness  is  almost  a 
crime. 

So  thought  Martial;  and  he,  the  great  statesman, 
often  said  to  himself,  in  a  sort  of  rage : 

"  To  love,  and  to  be  loved — that  is  everything !  All 
else  is  vanity." 

He  had  really  tried  to  love  his  wife ;  he  had  done  his 
best  to  rekindle  the  admiration  with  which  she  had  in- 
spired him  at  their  first  meeting.  He  had  not  suc- 
ceeded. 

Between  them  there  seemed  to  be  a  wall  of  ice  which 
nothing  could  melt,  and  which  was  constantly  increas- 
ing in  height  and  thickness. 

"  Why  is  it  ?  "  he  wondered,  again  and  again.  "  It  is 
incomprehensible.  There  are  days  when  I  could  swear 
that  she  loved  me.  Her  character,  formerly  so  irritable, 
is  entirely  changed ;  she  is  gentleness  itself." 

But  he  could  not  conquer  his  aversion ;  it  was. 
stronger  than  his  own  will. 

These  unavailing  regrets,  and  the  disappointments 
and  sorrow  that  preyed  upon  him,  undoubtedly  ag- 
gravated the  bitterness  and  severity  of  Martial's  policy. 

But  he,  at  least,  knew  how  to  fall  nobly. 

He  passed,  without  even  a  change  of  countenance, 
from  almost  omnipotence  to  a  position  so  compromis- 
ing that  his  very  life  was  endangered. 

On   seeing  his   ante-chambers,   formerly   thronged 


556        THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

with  flatterers  and  office-seekers,  empty  and  deserted, 
he  laughed,  and  his  laugh  was  unaffected. 

"  The  ship  is  sinking,"  said  he ;  "  the  rats  have  de- 
serted it." 

He  did  not  even  pale  when  the  noisy  crowd  came 
to  hoot  and  curse  and  hurl  stones  at  his  windows ;  and 
when  Otto,  his  faithful  valet  de  chambre,  entreated  him 
to  assume  a  disguise  and  make  his  escape  through  the 
gardens,  he  responded : 

"  By  no  means  !  I  am  simply  odious ;  I  do  not  wish 
to  become  ridiculous  !  " 

They  could  not  even  dissuade  him  from  going  to  a 
window  and  looking  down  upon  the  rabble  in  the 
street  below. 

A  singular  idea  had  just  occurred  to  him. 

"  If  Jean  Lacheneur  is  still  alive,"  he  thought,  "  how 
much  he  would  enjoy  this  !  And  if  he  is  alive,  he  is  un- 
doubtedly there  in  the  foremost  rank,  urging  on  the 
crowd." 

And  he  wished  to  see. 

But  Jean  Lacheneur  was  in  Russia  at  that  epoch. 
The  excitement  subsided ;  the  Hotel  de  Sairmeuse  was 
not  seriously  threatened.  Still  Martial  realized  that  it 
would  be  better  for  him  to  go  away  for  a  while,  and 
allow  people  to  forget  him. 

He  did  not  ask  the  duchess  to  accompany  him. 

"  The  fault  has  been  mine  entirely,"  he  said  to  her, 
"  and  to  make  you  suffer  for  it  by  condemning  you  to 
exile  would  be  unjust.  Remain  here ;  I  think  it  will  be 
much  better  for  you  to  remain  here." 

She  did  not  offer  to  go  with  him.  It  would  have  been 
a  pleasure  to  her,  but  she  dared  not  leave  Paris.  She 
knew  that  she  must  remain  in  order  to  insure  the  silence 
of  her  persecutors.  Both  times  she  had  left  Paris  be- 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    557 

fore,  all  came  near  being  discovered,  and  yet  she  had 
Aunt  Medea,  then,  to  take  her  place. 

Martial  went  away,  accompanied  only  by  his  devoted 
servant,  Otto.  In  intelligence,  this  man  was  decidedly 
superior  to  his  position ;  he  possessed  an  independent 
fortune,  and  he  had  a  hundred  reasons — one,  by  the 
way,  was  a  very  pretty  one — for  desiring  to  remain  in 
Paris ;  but  his  master  was  in  trouble,  and  he  did  not 
hesitate. 

For  four  years  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  wandered 
over  Europe,  ever  accompanied  by  his  ennui  and  his 
dejection,  and  chafing  beneath  the  burden  of  a  life  no 
longer  animated  by  interest  or  sustained  by  hope. 

He  remained  awhile  in  London,  then  he  went  to 
Vienna,  afterward  to  Venice.  One  day  he  was  seized 
by  an  irresistible  desire  to  see  Paris  again,  and  he  re- 
turned. 

It  was  not  a  very  prudent  step,  perhaps.  His  bit- 
terest enemies — personal  enemies,  whom  he  had  mor- 
tally offended  and  persecuted — were  in  power ;  but  he 
did  not  hesitate.  Besides,  how  could  they  injure  him, 
since  he  had  no  favors  to  ask,  no  cravings  of  ambition 
to  satisfy  ? 

The  exile  which  had  weighed  so  heavily  upon  him, 
the  sorrow,  the  disappointments  and  loneliness  he  had 
endured  had  softened  his  nature  and  inclined  his  heart 
to  tenderness  ;  and  he  returned  firmly  resolved  to  over- 
come his  aversion  to  his  wife,  and  seek  a  reconciliation. 

"  Old  age  is  approaching,"  he  thought.  "  If  I  have 
not  a  beloved  wife  at  my  fireside,  I  may  at  least  have  a 
friend." 

His  manner  toward  her,  on  his  return,  astonished 
Mme.  Blanche.  She  almost  believed  she  saw  again 
the  Martial  of  the  little  blue  salon  at  Courtornieu ;  but 


558         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

the  realization  of  her  cherished  dream  was  now  only 
another  torture  added  to  all  the  others. 

Martial  was  striving  to  carry  his  plan  into  execution, 
when  the  following  laconic  epistle  came  to  him  one  day 
through  the  post : 

"  MONSIEUR  LE  Due — I,  if  I  were  in  your  place, 
would  watch  my  wife." 

It  was  only  an  anonymous  letter,  but  Martial's  blood 
mounted  to  his  forehead. 

"  Can  it  be  that  she  has  a  lover  ?  "  he  thought. 

Then  reflecting  on  his  own  conduct  toward  his  wife 
since  their  marriage,  he  said  to  himself: 

"  And  if  she  has,  have  I  any  right  to  complain  ?  Did 
I  not  tacitly  give  her  back  her  liberty  ?  " 

He  was  greatly  troubled,  and  yet  he  would  not  have 
degraded  himself  so  much  as  to  play  the  spy,  had  it  not 
been  for  one  of  those  trifling  circumstances  which  so 
often  decide  a  man's  destiny. 

He  was  returning  from  a  ride  on  horseback  one 
morning  about  eleven  o'clock,  and  he  was  not  thirty 
paces  from  the  Hotel  de  Sairmeuse  when  he  saw  a 
lady  hurriedly  emerge  from  the  house.  She  was  very 
plainly  dressed — entirely  in  black — but  her  whole  ap- 
pearance was  strikingly  that  of  the  duchess. 

"  It  is  certainly  my  wife ;  but  why  is  she  dressed  in 
such  a  fashion  ?  "  he  thought. 

Had  he  been  on  foot  he  would  certainly  have  en- 
tered the  house ;  as  it  was,  he  slowly  followed  Mme. 
Blanche,  who  was  going  up  the  Rue  Crenelle.  She 
walked  very  quickly,  and  without  turning  her  head,  and 
kept  her  face  persistently  shrouded  in  a  very  thick 
veil. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    559 

When  she  reached  the  Rue  Taranne,  she  threw 
herself  into  one  of  the  fiacres  at  the  carriage-stand. 

The  coachman  came  to  the  door  to  speak  to  her; 
then  nimbly  sprang  upon  the  box,  and  gave  his  bony 
horses  one  of  those  cuts  of  the  whip  that  announce  a 
princely  pourboire. 

The  carriage  had  already  turned  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  du  Dragon,  and  Martial,  ashamed  and  irresolute, 
had  not  moved  from  the  place  where  he  had  stopped  his 
horse,  just  around  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Saint  Pares. 

Not  daring  to  admit  his  suspicions,  he  tried  to  de- 
ceive himself. 

"  Nonsense !  "  he  thought,  giving  the  reins  to  his 
horse,  "what  do  I  risk  in  advancing?  The  carriage 
is  a  long  way  off  by  this  time,  and  I  shall  not  overtake 
it." 

He  did  overtake  it,  however,  on  reaching  the  in- 
tersection of  the  Croix-Rouge,  where  there  was,  as 
usual,  a  crowd  of  vehicles. 

It  was  the  same  fiacre;  Martial  recognized  it  by  its 
green  body,  and  its  wheels  striped  with  white. 

Emerging  from  the  crowd  of  carriages,  the  driver 
whipped  up  his  horses,  and  it  was  at  a  gallop  that  they 
flew  up  the  Rue  du  Vieux  Columbier — the  narrowest 
street  that  borders  the  Place  Saint  Sulpice — and  gained 
the  outer  boulevards. 

Martial's  thoughts  were  busy  as  he  trotted  along 
about  a  hundred  yards  behind  the  vehicle. 

"  She  is  in  a  terrible  hurry,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  This,  however,  is  scarcely  the  quarter  for  a  lover's 
rendezvous." 

The  carriage  had  passed  the  Place  d'ltalie.  It  en- 
tered the  Rue  du  Chateau-des-Rentiers  and  soon  paused 
before  a  tract  of  unoccupied  ground. 


560         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 

The  door  was  at  once  opened,  and  the  Duchesse  de 
Sairmeuse  hastily  alighted. 

Without  stopping  to  look  to  the  right  or  to  the  left, 
she  hurried  across  the  open  space. 

A  man,  by  no  means  prepossessing  in  appearance, 
with  a  long  beard,  and  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and 
clad  in  a  workman's  blouse,  was  seated  upon  a  large 
block  of  stone  not  far  off. 

"  Will  you  hold  my  horse  a  moment  ?  "  inquired  Mar- 
tial. 

"  Certainly,"  answered  the  man. 

Had  Martial  been  less  preoccupied,  his  suspicions 
might  have  been  aroused  by  the  malicious  smile  that 
curved  the  man's  lips :  and  had  he  examined  his  features 
closely,  he  would  perhaps  have  recognized  him. 

For  it  was  Jean  Lacheneur. 

Since  addressing  that  anonymous  letter  to  the  Due 
de  Sairmeuse,  he  had  made  the  duchess  multiply  her 
visits  to  the  Widow  Chupin;  and  each  time  he  had 
watched  for  her  coming. 

"  So,  if  her  husband  decides  to  follow  her  I  shall  know 
it,"  he  thought. 

It  was  indispensable  for  the  success  of  his  plans  that 
Mme.  Blanche  should  be  watched  by  her  husband. 

For  Jean  Lacheneur  had  decided  upon  his  course. 
From  a  thousand  schemes  for  revenge  he  had  chosen 
the  most  frightful  and  ignoble  that  a  brain  maddened 
and  enfevered  by  hatred  could  possibly  conceive. 

He  longed  to  see  the  haughty  Duchesse  de  Sairmeuse 
subjected  to  the  vilest  ignominy,  Martial  in  the  hands 
of  the  lowest  of  the  low.  He  pictured  a  bloody  struggle 
in  this  miserable  den ;  the  sudden  arrival  of  the  police, 
summoned  by  himself,  who  would  arrest  all  the  parties 
indiscriminately.  He  gloated  over  the  thought  of  a 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    561 

trial  in  which  the  crime  committed  at  the  Borderie 
would  be  brought  to  light;  he  saw  the  duke  and  the 
duchess  in  prison,  and  the  great  names  of  Sairmeuse 
and  of  Courtornieu  shrouded  in  eternal  disgrace. 

And  he  believed  that  nothing  was  wanting  to  insure 
the  success  of  his  plans.  He  had  at  his  disposal  two 
miserable  wretches  who  were  capable  of  any  crime ;  and 
an  unfortunate  youth  named  Gustave,  made  his  willing 
slave  by  poverty  and  cowardice,  was  intended  to  play 
the  part  of  Marie- Anne's  son. 

These  three  accomplices  had  no  suspicion  of  his  real 
intentions.  As  for  the  Widow  Chupin  and  her  son,  if 
they  suspected  some  infamous  plot,  the  name  of  the 
duchess  was  all  they  really  knew  in  regard  to  it.  More- 
over, Jean  held  Polyte  and  his  mother  completely  under 
his  control  by  the  wealth  which  he  had  promised  them 
if  they  served  him  docilely. 

And  if  Martial  followed  his  wife  into  the  Poivriere, 
Jean  had  so  arranged  matters  that  the  duke  would  at 
first  suppose  that  she  had  been  led  there  by  charity. 

"  But  he  will  not  go  in,"  thought  Lacheneur,  whose 
heart  throbbed  wildly  with  sinister  joy  as  he  held  Mar- 
tial's horse.  "  Monsieur  le  Due  is  too  fine  for  that." 

And  Martial  did  not  go  in.  Though  he  was  horrified 
when  he  saw  his  wife  enter  that  vile  den,  as  if  she  were 
at  home  there,  he  said  to  himself  that  he  should  learn 
nothing  by  following  her. 

He,  therefore,  contented  himself  by  making  a  thor- 
ough examination  of  the  outside  of  the  house ;  then,  re- 
mounting his  horse,  he  departed  on  a  gallop.  He  was 
completely  mystified;  he  did  not  know  what  to  think, 
what  to  imagine,  what  to  believe. 

But  he  was  fully  resolved  to  fathom  this  mystery; 
and  as  soon  as  he  returned  home  he  sent  Otto  out  in 
36 


562         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

search  of  information.  He  could  confide  everything  to 
this  devoted  servant ;  he  had  no  secrets  from  him. 

About  four  o'clock  his  faithful  valet  de  chambre  re- 
turned, an  expression  of  profound  consternation  visible 
upon  his  countenance. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Martial,  divining  some  great 
misfortune. 

"  Ah,  sir,  the  mistress  of  that  wretched  den  is  the 
widow  of  Chupin's  son " 

Martial's  face  became  as  white  as  his  linen. 

He  knew  life  too  well  not  to  understand  that  since  the 
duchess  had  been  compelled  to  submit  to  the  power  of 
these  people,  they  must  be  masters  of  some  secret  which 
she  was  willing  to  make  any  sacrifice  to  preserve.  But 
what  secret? 

The  years  which  had  silvered  Martial's  hair,  had 
not  cooled  the  arder  of  his  blood.  He  was,  as  he  had 
always  been,  a  man  of  impulses. 

He  rushed  to  his  wife's  apartments. 

"  Madame  has  just  gone  down  to  receive  the  Countess 
de  Mussidan  and  the  Marquise  d'Arlange,"  said  the 
maid. 

"  Very  well ;  I  will  wait  for  her  here.    Retire." 

And  Martial  entered  the  chamber  of  Mme.  Blanche. 

The  room  was  in  disorder,  for  the  duchess,  after  re- 
turning from  the  Poivriere,  was  still  engaged  in  her 
toilet  when  the  visitors  were  announced. 

The  wardrobe-doors  were  open,  the  chairs  were  en- 
cumbered with  wearing  apparel,  the  articles  which 
Mme.  Blanche  used  daily — her  watch,  her  purse,  and 
several  bunches  of  keys — were  lying  upon  the  dressing- 
table  and  mantel. 

Martial  did  not  sit  down.  His  self-possession  was 
returning. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    563 

.  fofly,"  he  thought,  "if  I  question  her,  I  shall 
learn  nothing.    I  must  be  silent  and  watchful" 

He  was  about  to  retire,  when,  on  glancing  about  the 
loom,  his  eyes  fell  upon  a  large  casket,  inlaid  with  silver, 
which  had  belonged  to  his  wife  ever  since  she  was  a 
young  girl,  and  which  accompanied  her  everywhere. 

"  That,  doubtless,  holds  the  solution  of  the  mystery," 
he  said  to  himself. 

It  was  one  of  those  moments  when  a  man  obeys  the 
dictates  of  passion  without  pausing  to  reflect.  He  saw 
the  keys  upon  die  mantel ;  he  seized  them,  and  endeav- 
ored to  mid  one  that  would  fit  the  lock  of  the  casket. 
The  fourth  key  opened  it.  It  was  full  of  papers. 

With  feverish  haste,  Martial  examined  the  contents. 
He  had  thrown  aside  several  unimportant  letters,  when 
he  came  to  a  bill  that  read  as  follows : 

"Search  for  the  child  ofj  Madame  de  Sairmeuse.  Ex- 
penses for  the  third  quarter  of  the  year  18 — ."" 

Martial's  brain  reeled. 

A  child!    His  wife  had  a  child! 

He  read  on :  "  For  services  of  two  agents  at  Sair- 
meuse,   .  For  expenses  attending  my  own  journey, 

.    Divers  gratuities, .     Etc.,  etc."    The  total 

amounted  to  six  thousand  francs.    The  bin  was  signed 
"Chefteux." 

With  a  sort  of  cold  rage,  Martial  continued  his  ex- 
amination of  the  contents  of  the  casket,  and  found  a 
note  written  in  a  miserable  hand,  that  said :  "  Two 
thousand  francs  this  evening,  or  I  will  tell  the  duke  the 
history  of  the  affair  at  the  Borderie."  Then  several 
more  bills  from  Cbefteux;  then  a  letter  from  Aunt 
Medea  in  which  she  spoke  of  prison  and  of  remorse. 
And  finally,  at  the  bottom  of  the  casket,  he  found  the 
marriage-certificate  of  Marie-Anne  Lacheneur  and 


564        THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

Maurice  d'Escorval,  drawn  up  by  the  Cure  of  Vigano 
and  signed  by  the  old  physician  and  Corporal  Bavois. 

The  truth  was  as  clear  as  daylight. 

Stunned,  frozen  with  horror,  Martial  scarcely  had 
strength  to  return  the  letters  to  the  casket  and  restore  it 
to  its  place. 

Then  he  tottered  back  to  his  own  room,  clinging  to 
the  walls  for  support. 

"  It  was  she  who  murdered  Marie-Anne,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

He  was  confounded,  terror-stricken  by  the  perfidy 
and  baseness  of  this  woman  who  was  his  wife — by  her 
criminal  audacity,  by  her  cool  calculation  and  assur- 
ance, by  her  marvellous  powers  of  dissimulation. 

He  swore  he  would  discover  all,  either  through  the 
duchess  or  through  the  Widow  Chupin ;  and  he  ordered 
Otto  to  procure  a  costume  for  him  such  as  was  general- 
ly worn  by  the  habitues  of  the  Poivriere.  He  did  not 
know  how  soon  he  might  have  use  for  it. 

This  happened  early  in  February,  and  from  that  mo-" 
ment  Mme.  Blanche  did  not  take  a  single  step  with- 
out being  watched.  Not  a  letter  reached  her  that  her 
husband  had  not  previously  read. 

And  she  had  not  the  slightest  suspicion  of  the  con- 
stant espionage  to  which  she  was  subjected. 

Martial  did  not  leave  his  room ;  he  pretended  to  be 
ill.  To  meet  his  wife  and  be  silent,  was  beyond  his 
powers.  He  remembered  the  oath  of  vengeance  which 
he  had  pronounced  over  Marie-Anne's  lifeless  form  too 
well. 

But  there  were  no  new  revelations,  and  for  this  rea- 
son :  Polyte  Chupin  had  been  arrested  under  charge  of 
theft,  and  this  accident  caused  a  delay  in  the  execution 
of  Lacheneur's  plans.  But,  at  last,  he  judged  that  all 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    565 

would  be  in  readiness  on  the  2Oth  of  February,  Shrove 
Sunday. 

The  evening  before  the  Widow  Chupin,  in  conform- 
ance  with  his  instructions,  wrote  to  the  duchess  that  she 
must  come  to  the  Poivriere  Sunday  evening  at  eleven 
o'clock. 

On  that  same  evening  Jean  was  to  meet  his  accom- 
plices at  a  ball  at  the  Rainbow — a  public-house  bear- 
ing a  very  unenviable  reputation — and  give  them  their 
last  instructions. 

These  accomplices  were  to  open  the  scene ;  he  was  to 
appear  only  in  the  denouement. 

"  All  is  well  arranged ;  the  mechanism  will  work  of 
its  own  accord,"  he  said  to  himself. 

But  the  "  mechanism,"  as  he  styled  it,  failed  to  work. 

Mme.  Blanche,  on  receiving  the  Widow  Chupin's 
summons,  revolted  for  a  moment.  The  lateness  of  the 
hour,  the  isolation  of  the  spot  designated,  frightened 
her. 

But  she  was  obliged  to  submit,  and  on  the  appointed 
evening  she  furtively  left  the  house,  accompanied  by 
Camille,  the  same  servant  who  had  witnessed  Aunt 
Medea's  last  agony. 

The  duchess  and  her  maid  were  attired  like  women  of 
the  very  lowest  order,  and  felt  no  fear  of  being  seen  or 
recognized. 

And  yet  a  man  was  watching  them,  and  he  quickly 
followed  them.  It  was  Martial. 

Knowing  of  this  rendezvous  even  before  his  wife,  he 
had  disguised  himself  in  the  costume  Otto  had  pro- 
cured for  him,  which  was  that  of  a  laborer  about  the 
quays ;  and,  as  he  was  a  man  who  did  perfectly  what- 
ever he  attempted  to  do,  he  had  succeeded  in  rendering 
himself  unrecognizable.  His  hair  and  beard  were  rough 


566         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

and  matted ;  his  hands  were  soiled  and  grimed  with  dirt ; 
he  was  really  the  abject  wretch  whose  rags  he  wore. 

Otto  had  begged  to  be  allowed  to  accompany  him ; 
but  the  duke  refused,  saying  that  the  revolver  which 
he  would  take  with  him  would  be  sufficient  protection. 
He  knew  Otto  well  enough,  however,  to  be  certain  he 
would  disobey  him. 

Ten  o'clock  was  sounding  when  Mme.  Blanche  and 
Camille  left  the  house,  and  it  did  not  take  them  five 
minutes  to  reach  the  Rue  Taranne. 

There  was  one  fiacre  on  the  stand — one  only. 

They  entered  it  and  it  drove  away. 

This  circumstance  drew  from  Martial  an  oath  worthy 
of  his  costume.  Then  he  reflected  that,  since  he  knew 
where  to  find  his  wife,  a  slight  delay  in  finding  a  carriage 
did  not  matter. 

He  soon  obtained  one ;  and  the  coachman,  thanks  to  a 
pourboire  of  ten  francs,  drove  to  the  Rue  du  Chateau- 
des-Rentiers  as  fast  as  his  horses  could  go. 

But  the  duke  had  scarcely  set  foot  on  the  ground  be- 
fore he  heard  the  rumbling  of  another  carriage  which 
stopped  abruptly  at  a  little  distance. 

"  Otto  is  evidently  following  me,"  he  thought. 

And  he  started  across  the  open  space  in  the  direction 
of  the  Poivriere. 

Gloom  and  silence  prevailed  on  every  side,  and  were 
made  still  more  oppressive  by  a  chill  fog  that  heralded 
an  approaching  thaw.  Martial  stumbled  and  slipped 
at  almost  every  step  upon  the  rough,  snow-covered 
ground. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  could  distinguish  a  dark 
mass  in  the  midst  of  the  fog.  It  was  the  Poivriere. 
The  light  within  filtered  through  the  heart-shaped 
openings  in  the  blinds,  looking  at  a  distance  like  lurid 
eyes  gleaming  in  the  darkness. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    567 

Could  it  really  be  possible  that  the  Duchesse  de  Sair- 
meuse  was  there ! 

Martial  cautiously  approached  the  window,  and 
clinging  to  the  hinges  of  one  of  the  shutters,  he  lifted 
himself  up  so  he  could  peer  through  the  opening. 

Yes,  his  wife  was  indeed  there  in  that  vile  den. 

She  and  Camille  were  seated  at  a  table  before  a  large 
punch-bowl,  and  in  company  with  two  ragged,  leering 
scoundrels,  and  a  soldier,  quite  youthful  in  appearance. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room  stood  the  Widow  Chupin, 
with  a  small  glass  in  her  hand,  talking  volubly  and 
punctuating  her  sentences  by  copious  draughts  of 
brandy. 

The  impression  produced  upon  Martial  was  so  ter- 
rible that  his  hold  relaxed  and  he  dropped  to  the  ground. 

A  ray  of  pity  penetrated  his  soul,  for  he  vaguely 
realized  the  frightful  suffering  which  had  been  the  chas- 
tisement of  the  murderess. 

But  he  desired  another  glance  at  the  interior  of  the 
hovel,  and  he  again  lifted  himself  up  to  the  opening  and 
looked  in. 

The  old  woman  had  disappeared ;  the  young  soldier 
had  risen  from  the  table  and  was  talking  and  gesticulat- 
ing earnestly.  Mme.  Blanche  and  Camille  were  lis- 
tening to  him  with  the  closest  attention. 

The  two  men  who  were  sitting  face  to  face,  with  their 
elbows  upon  the  table,  were  looking  at  each  other ;  and 
Martial  saw  them  exchange  a  significant  glance. 

He  was  not  wrong.  The  scoundrels  were  plotting  "  a 
rich  haul." 

Mme.  Blanche,  who  had  dressed  herself  with  such 
care,  that  to  render  her  disguise  perfect  she  had  encased 
her  feet  in  large,  coarse  shoes,  that  were  almost  killing 
her — Mme.  Blanche  had  forgotten  to  remove  her  superb 
diamond  ear-rings. 


568         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

She  had  forgotten  them,  but  Lacheneur's  accomplices 
had  noticed  them,  and  were  now  regarding  them  with 
eyes  that  glittered  more  brilliantly  than  the  diamonds 
themselves. 

While  awaiting  Lacheneur's  coming,  these  wretches, 
as  had  been  agreed  upon,  were  playing  the  part  which 
he  had  imposed  upon  them.  For  this,  and  their  assist- 
ance afterward,  they  were  to  receive  a  certain  sum  of 
money. 

But  they  were  thinking  that  this  sum  was  not,  per- 
haps, a  quarter  part  of  the  value  of  these  jewels,  and 
they  exchanged  glances  that  said : 

"  Ah !  if  we  could  only  get  them  and  make  our  escape 
before  Lacheneur  comes !  " 

The  temptation  was  too  strong  to  be  resisted. 

One  of  them  rose  suddenly,  and,  seizing  the  duchess 
by  the  back  of  the  neck,  he  forced  her  head  down  upon 
the  table. 

The  diamonds  would  have  been  torn  from  the  ears  of 
Mme.  Blanche  had  it  not  been  for  Camille,  who 
bravely  came  to  the  aid  of  her  mistress. 

Martial  could  endure  no  more.  He  sprang  to  the 
door  of  the  hovel,  opened  it,  and  entered,  bolting  it  be- 
hind him. 

"  Martial !  " 

"  Monsieur  le  Due !  " 

These  cries  escaping  the  lips  of  Mme.  Blanche  and 
Camille  in  the  same  breath,  changed  the  momentary 
stupor  of  their  assailants  into  fury ;  and  they  both  pre- 
cipitated themselves  upon  Martial,  determined  to  kill 
him. 

With  a  spring  to  one  side,  Martial  avoided  them. 
He  had  his  revolver  in  his  hand ;  he  fired  twice  and  the 
wretches  fell. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    569 

But  he  was  not  yet  safe,  for  the  young  soldier  threw 
himself  upon  him,  and  attempted  to  disarm  him. 

Through  all  the  furious  struggle,  Martial  did  not 
cease  crying,  in  a  panting  voice: 

"  Fly !  Blanche,  fly !  Otto  is  not  far  off.  The  name 
— save  the  honor  of  the  name !  " 

The  two  women  obeyed,  making  their  escape  through 
the  back  door,  which  opened  upon  the  garden ;  and  they 
had  scarcely  done  so,  before  a  violent  knocking  was 
heard  at  the  front  door. 

The  police  were  coming!  This  increased  Martial's 
frenzy:  and  with  one  supreme  effort  to  free  himself 
from  his  assailant,  he  gave  him  such  a  violent  push  that 
his  adversary  fell,  striking  his  head  against  the  corner 
of  the  table,  after  which  he  lay  like  one  dead. 

But  the  Widow  Chupin,  who  had  come  downstairs  on 
hearing  the  uproar,  was  shrieking  upon  the  stairs.  At 
the  door  someone  was  crying :  "  Open  in  the  name  of 
the  law !  " 

Martial  might  have  fled ;  but  if  he  fled,  the  duchess 
might  be  captured,  for  he  would  certainly  be  pursued. 
He  saw  the  peril  at  a  glance,  and  his  decision  was  made. 

He  shook  the  Widow  Chupin  violently  by  the  arm, 
and  said,  in  an  imperious  voice: 

"If  you  know  how  to  hold  your  tongue  you  shall 
have  one  hundred  thousand  francs." 

Then,  drawing  a  table  before  the  door  opening  into 
the  adjoining  room,  he  intrenched  himself  behind  it  as 
behind  a  rampart,  and  awaited  the  approach  of  the 
enemy. 

The  next  moment  the  door  was  forced  open,  and  a 
squad  of  police,  under  the  command  of  Inspector  Gev- 
rol,  entered  the  room. 

"  Surrender !  "  cried  the  inspector. 


570         THE   HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

Martial  did  not  move ;  his  pistol  was  turned  upon  the 
intruder. 

"  If  I  can  parley  with  them,  and  hold  them  in  check 
only  two  minutes,  all  may  yet  be  saved,"  he  thought. 

He  obtained  the  wished-for  delay ;  then  he  threw  his 
weapon  to  the  ground,  and  was  about  to  bound  through 
the  back-door,  when  a  policeman,  who  had  gone  round 
to  the  rear  of  the  house,  seized  him  about  the  body, 
and  threw  him  to  the  floor. 

From  this  side  he  expected  only  assistance,  so  he 
cried : 

"  Lost !    It  is  the  Prussians  who  are  coming !  " 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  he  was  bound ;  and  two 
hours  later  he  was  an  inmate  of  the  station-house  at  the 
Place  d'ltalie. 

He  had  played  his  part  so  perfectly,  that  he  had  de- 
ceived even  Gevrol.  The  other  participants  in  the  broil 
were  dead,  and  he  could  rely  upon  the  Widow  Chupin. 
But  he  knew  that  the  trap  had  been  set  for  him  by  Jean 
Lacheneur ;  and  he  read  a  whole  volume  of  suspicion  in 
the  eyes  of  the  young  officer  who  had  cut  off  his  retreat, 
and  who  was  called  Lecoq  by  his  companions. 


CHAPTER  LV 

The  Due  de  Sairmeuse  was  one  of  those  men  who  re- 
main superior  to  all  fortuitous  circumstances,  good  or 
bad.  He  was  a  man  of  vast  experience,  and  great 
natural  shrewdness.  His  mind  was  quick  to  act,  and 
fertile  in  resources.  But  when  he  found  himself  im- 
mured in  the  damp  and  loathsome  station-house,  after 
the  terrible  scenes  at  the  Poivriere,  he  relinquished  all 
hope. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    571 

Martial  knew  that  Justice  does  not  trust  to  appear- 
ances, and  that  when  she  finds  herself  confronted  by  a 
mystery,  she  does  not  rest  until  she  has  fathomed  it. 

Martial  knew,  only  too  well,  that  if  his  identity  was 
established,  the  authorities  would  endeavor  to  discover 
the  reason  of  his  presence  at  the  Poivriere.  That  this 
reason  would  soon  be  discovered,  he  could  not  doubt, 
and,  in  that  case,  the  crime  at  the  Borderie,  and  the 
guilt  of  the  duchess,  would  undoubtedly  be  made  pub- 
lic. 

This  meant  the  Court  of  Assizes,  prison,  a  frightful 
scandal,  dishonor,  eternal  disgrace ! 

And  the  power  he  had  wielded  in  former  days  was 
a  positive  disadvantage  to  him  now.  His  place  was  now 
filled  by  his  political  adversaries.  Among  them  were 
two  personal  enemies  upon  whom  he  had  inflicted  those 
terrible  wounds  of  vanity  which  are  never  healed.  What 
an  opportunity  for  revenge  this  would  afford  them ! 

At  the  thought  of  this  ineffaceable  stain  upon  the 
great  name  of  Sairmeuse,  which  was  his  pride  and  his 
glory,  reason  almost  forsook  him. 

"  My  God,  inspire  me,"  he  murmured.  "  How  shall 
I  save  the  honor  of  the  name  ?  " 

He  saw  but  one  chance  of  salvation — death.  They 
now  believed  him  one  of  the  miserable  wretches  that 
haunt  the  suburbs  of  Paris  ;  if  he  were  dead  they  would 
not  trouble  themselves  about  his  identity. 

"  It  is  the  only  way  !  "  he  thought. 

He  was  endeavoring  to  find  some  means  of  accom- 
plishing his  plan  of  self-destruction,  when  he  heard  a 
bustle  and  confusion  outside.  In  a  few  moments  the 
door  was  opened  and  a  man  was  thrust  into  the  same 
cell — a  man  who  staggered  a  few  steps,  fell  heavily  to 
the  floor,  and  began  to  snore  loudly.  It  was  only  a 
drunken  man. 


572         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

But  a  gleam  of  hope  illumined  Martial's  heart,  for  in 
the  drunken  man  he  recognized  Otto — disguised,  al- 
most unrecognizable. 

It  was  a  bold  ruse  and  no  time  must  be  lost  in  profit- 
ing by  it.  Martial  stretched  himself  upon  a  bench,  as  if 
to  sleep,  in  such  a  way  that  his  head  was  scarcely  a 
yard  from  that  of  Otto. 

"  The  duchess  is  out  of  danger,"  murmured  the  faith- 
ful servant. 

"  For  to-day,  perhaps.  But  to-morrow,  through  me, 
all  will  be  known." 

"  Have  you  told  them  who  you  are  ?  " 

"  No ;  all  the  policemen  but  one  took  me  for  a  vaga- 
bond." 

"  You  must  continue  to  personate  this  character." 

"  What  good  will  it  do  ?    Lacheneur  will  betray  me." 

But  Martial,  though  he  little  knew  it,  had  no  need  to 
fear  Lacheneur  for  the  present,  at  least.  A  few  hours 
before,  on  his  way  from  the  Rainbow  to  the  Poivriere, 
Jean  had  been  precipitated  to  the  bottom  of  a  stone 
quarry,  and  had  fractured  his  skull.  The  laborers,  on 
returning  to  their  work  early  in  the  morning,  found  him 
lying  there  senseless;  and  at  that  very  moment  they 
were  carrying  him  to  the  hospital. 

Although  Otto  was  ignorant  of  this  circumstance,  he 
did  not  seem  discouraged. 

"  There  will  be  some  way  of  getting  rid  of  Lache- 
neur," said  he,  "  if  you  will  only  sustain  your  present 
character.  An  escape  is  an  easy  matter  when  a  man  has 
millions  at  his  command." 

"  They  will  ask  me  who  I  am,  whence  I  came,  how  I 
have  lived." 

"  You  speak  English  and  German ;  tell  them  that  you 
have  just  returned  from  foreign  lands ;  that  you  were  a 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    573 

foundling  and  that  you  have  always  lived  a  roving 
life." 

"  How  can  I  prove  this  ?  " 

Otto  drew  a  little  nearer  his  master,  and  said,  im- 
pressively : 

"  We  must  agree  upon  our  plans,  for  our  success  de- 
pends upon  a  perfect  understanding  between  us.  I  have 
a  sweetheart  in  Paris — and  no  one  knows  our  relations. 
She  is  as  sharp  as  steel.  Her  name  is  Milner,  and  she 
keeps  the  Hotel  de  Mariembourg,  on  the  Saint-Quentin. 
You  can  say  that  you  arrived  here  from  Leipsic  on  Sun- 
day; that  you  went  to  this  hotel;  that  you  left  your 
trunk  there,  and  that  this  trunk  is  marked  with  the 
name  of  May,  foreign  artist." 

"  Capital !  "  said  Martial,  approvingly. 

And  then,  with  extraordinary  quickness  and  pre- 
cision, they  agreed,  point  by  point,  upon  their  plan  of 
defence. 

When  all  had  been  arranged,  Otto  pretended  to 
awake  from  the  heavy  sleep  of  intoxication ;  he  clam- 
ored to  be  released,  and  the  keeper  finally  opened  the 
door  and  set  him  at  liberty. 

Before  leaving  the  station-house,  however,  he  suc- 
ceeded in  throwing  a  note  to  the  Widow  Chupin,  who 
was  imprisoned  in  the  other  compartment. 

So,  when  Lecoq,  after  his  skilful  investigations  at 
the  Poivriere,  rushed  to  the  Place  d'ltalie,  panting  with 
hope  and  ambition,  he  found  himself  outwitted  by  these 
men,  who  were  inferior  to  him  in  penetration,  but  whose 
finesse  was  superior  to  his  own. 

Martial's  plans  being  fully  formed,  he  intended  to 
carry  them  out  with  absolute  perfection  of  detail,  and, 
after  his  removal  to  prison,  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  was 
preparing  himself  for  the  visit  of  the  judge  of  instruct 
tion,  when  Maurice  d'Escorval  entered. 


574         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

They  recognized  each  other.  They  were  both  terribly 
agitated,  and  the  examination  was  an  examination  only 
in  name.  After  the  departure  of  Maurice,  Martial  at- 
tempted to  destroy  himself.  He  had  no  faith  in  the 
generosity  of  his  former  enemy. 

But  when  he  found  M.  Segmuller  occupying  Mau- 
rice's place  the  next  morning,  Martial  believed  that  he 
was  saved. 

Then  began  that  struggle  between  the  judge  and 
Lecoq  on  one  side,  and  the  accused  on  the  other — a 
struggle  from  which  neither  party  came  out  conqueror. 

Martial  knew  that  Lecoq  was  the  only  person  he  had 
to  fear,  still  he  bore  him  no  ill-will.  Faithful  to  his 
nature,  which  compelled  him  to  be  just  even  to  his 
enemies,  he  could  not  help  admiring  the  astonishing 
penetration  and  perseverance  of  this  young  policeman 
who,  undismayed  by  the  obstacles  and  discouragements 
that  surrounded  him,  struggled  on,  unassisted,  to  reach 
the  truth. 

But  Lecoq  was  always  outwitted  by  Otto,  the  mys- 
terious accomplice,  who  seemed  to  know  his  every  move- 
ment in  advance. 

At  the  morgue,  at  the  Hotel  de  Mariembourg,  with 
Toinon,  the  wife  of  Polyte  Chupin,  as  well  as  with 
Polyte  Chupin  himself,  Lecoq  was  just  a  little  too  late. 

Lecoq  detected  the  secret  correspondence  between  the 
prisoner  and  his  accomplice.  He  was  even  ingenious 
enough  to  discover  the  key  to  it,  but  this  served  no  pur- 
pose. A  man,  who  had  seen  a  rival,  or  rather,  a  future 
master,  in  Lecoq  had  betrayed  him. 

If  his  efforts  to  arrive  at  the  truth  through  the  jewel- 
ler and  the  Marquis  d'Arlange  had  failed,  it  was  only 
because  Mme.  Blanche  had  not  purchased  the  diamond 
ear-rings  she  wore  at  the  Poivriere  at  any  shop,  but 
from  one  of  her  friends,  the  Baroness  de  Watchau. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    575 

And  lastly,  if  no  one  at  Paris  had  missed  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse,  it  was  because — thanks  to  an  understanding 
between  the  duchess,  Otto,  and  Camille — no  other  in- 
mate of  the  Hotel  de  Sairmeuse  suspected  his  absence. 
All  the  servants  supposed  their  master  confined  to  his 
room  by  illness.  They  prepared  all  sorts  of  gruels  and 
broths  for  him,  and  his  breakfast  and  dinner  were  taken 
to  his  apartments  every  day. 

So  the  weeks  went  by,  and  Martial  was  expecting  to 
be  summoned  before  the  Court  of  Assizes  and  con- 
demned under  the  name  of  May,  when  he  was  afforded 
an  opportunity  to  escape. 

Too  shrewd  not  to  discern  the  trap  that  had  been  set 
for  him,  he  endured  some  moments  of  horrible  hesita- 
tion in  the  prison-van. 

He  decided  to  accept  the  risk,  however,  commending 
himself  to  his  lucky  star. 

And  he  decided  wisely,  for  that  same  night  he  leaped 
his  own  garden-wall,  leaving,  as  a  hostage,  in  the 
hands  of  Lecoq,  an  escaped  convict,  Joseph  Conturier 
by  name,  whom  he  had  picked  up  in  a  low  drinking- 
saloon. 

Warned  by  Mme.  Milner,  thanks  to  a  blunder  on 
the  part  of  Lecoq,  Otto  was  awaiting  his  master. 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  Martial's  beard  fell  under 
the  razor ;  he  plunged  into  the  bath  that  was  awaiting 
him,  and  his  clothing  was  burned. 

And  it  was  he  who,  during  the  search  a  few  minutes 
later,  had  the  hardihood  to  call  out : 

"  Otto,  by  all  means  allow  these  men  to  do  their 
duty." 

But  he  did  not  breathe  freely  until  the  agents  of  police 
had  departed. 

"  At  last,"  he  exclaimed,  "  honor  is  saved !  We  have 
outwitted  Lecoq !  " 


576         THE  HONOR  OF  THE   NAME 

He  had  just  left  the  bath,  and  enveloped  himself  in  a 
robe  de  chambre,  when  Otto  handed  him  a  letter  from 
the  duchess. 

He  hastily  broke  the  seal  and  read : 

"  You  are  safe.  You  know  all.  I  am  dying.  Fare- 
well. I  loved  you." 

With  two  bounds  he  reached  his  wife's  apartments. 
The  door  was  locked :  he  burst  it  open.  Too  late ! 

Mme.  Blanche  was  dead — poisoned,  like  Marie- 
Anne  ;  but  she  had  procured  a  drug  whose  effect  was  in- 
stantaneous ;  and  extended  upon  her  couch,  clad  in  her 
wonted  apparel,  her  hands  folded  upon  her  breast,  she 
seemed  only  asleep. 

A  tear  glittered  in  Martial's  eye. 

"  Poor,  unhappy  woman !  "  he  murmured ;  "  may 
God  forgive  you  as  I  forgive  you — you  whose  crime  has 
been  so  frightfully  expiated  here  below ! " 

END  OF  PART  SECOND. 


EPILOGUE 

THE  FIRST  SUCCESS 

Safe,  in  his  own  princely  mansion,  and  surrounded 
by  an  army  of  retainers,  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse 
triumphantly  exclaimed : 

"  We  have  outwitted  Lecoq." 

In  this  he  was  right. 

But  he  thought  himself  forever  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  wily,  keen-witted  detective;  and  in  this  he  was 
wrong. 

Lecoq  was  not  the  man  to  sit  down  with  folded  hands 
and  brood  over  the  humiliation  of  his  defeat.  . 

Before  he  went  to  Father  Tabaret,  he  was  beginning 
to  recover  from  his  stupor  and  despondency ;  and  when 
he  left  that  experienced  detective's  presence,  he  had  re- 
gained his  courage,  his  command  over  his  faculties,  and 
sufficient  energy  to  move  the  world,  if  necessary. 

"  Well,  my  good  man,"  he  remarked  to  Father 
Absinthe,  who  was  trotting  along  by  his  side,  "  you  have 
heard  what  the  great  Monsieur  Tabaret  said,  did  you 
not  ?  So  you  see  I  was  right." 

But  his  companion  evinced  no  enthusiasm. 

"  Yes,  you  were  right,"  he  responded,  in  woe-begone 
tones. 

"  Do  you  think  we  are  ruined  by  two  or  three  mis- 
takes ?    Nonsense !    I  will  soon  turn  our  defeat  of  to- 
day into  a  glorious  victory." 
37  577 


578        THE   HONOR    OF   THE    NAME 

"  Ah !  you  might  do  so  perhaps,  if — they  do  not  dis- 
miss us  from  the  force." 

This  doleful  remark  recalled  Lecoq  to  a  realizing 
sense  of  the  present  situation. 

They  had  allowed  a  prisoner  to  slip  through  their 
fingers.  That  was  vexatious,  it  is  true;  but  they  had 
captured  one  of  the  most  notorious  of  criminals — 
Joseph  Conturier.  Surely  there  was  some  comfort  in 
that. 

But  while  Lecoq  could  have  borne  dismissal,  he  could 
not  endure  the  thought  that  he  would  not  be  allowed  to 
follow  up  this  affair  of  the  Poivriere. 

What  would  his  superior  officers  say  when  he  told 
them  that  May  and  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  were  one  and 
the  same  person? 

They  would,  undoubtedly,  shrug  their  shoulders  and 
turn  up  their  noses. 

"  Still,  Monsieur  Segmuller  will  believe  me,"  he 
thought.  "  But  will  he  dare  to  take  any  action  in  the 
matter  without  incontrovertible  evidence  ?  " 

This  was  very  unlikely.  Lecoq  realized  it  all  too 
well. 

"  Could  we  not  make  a  descent  upon  the  Hotel  de 
Sairmeuse,  and,  on  some  pretext  or  other,  compel  the 
duke  to  show  himself,  and  identify  him  as  the  prisoner 
May?" 

He  entertained  this  idea  only  for  an  instant,  then 
abruptly  dismissed  it. 

"  A  stupid  expedient !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Are  two 
such  men  as  the  duke  and  his  accomplice  likely  to  be 
caught  napping?  They  are  prepared  for  such  a  visit, 
and  we  should  only  have  our  labor  for  our  pains." 

He  made  these  reflections  sotto  voce;  and  Father 
Absinthe's  curiosity  was  aroused. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    579 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  he,  "  I  did  not  quite  understand 
you." 

"  I  say  that  we  must  find  some  tangible  proof  be- 
fore asking  permission  to  proceed  further." 

He  paused  with  knitted  brows. 

In  seeking  a  circumstance  which  would  establish  the 
complicity  between  some  member  of  the  duke's  house- 
hold and  the  witnesses  who  had  been  called  upon  to 
give  their  testimony,  Lecoq  thought  of  Mme.  Mil- 
ner,  the  owner  of  the  Hotel  de  Mariembourg,  and  his 
first  meeting  with  her. 

He  saw  her  again,  standing  upon  a  chair,  her  face 
on  a  level  with  a  cage,  covered  with  a  large  piece  of 
black  silk,  persistently  repeating  three  or  four  German 
words  to  a  starling,  who  as  persistently  retorted :  "  Ca- 
mille!  Where  is  Camille?  " 

"One  thing  is  certain,"  resumed  Lecoq;  "if  Ma- 
dame Milner — who  is  a  German  and  who  speaks  with 
the  strongest  possible  German  accent — had  raised  this 
bird,  it  would  either  have  spoken  German  or  with  the 
same  accent  as  its  mistress.  Therefore  it  cannot  have 
been  in  her  possession  long,  and  who  gave  it  to  her?  " 

Father  Absinthe  began  to  grow  impatient. 

"  In  sober  earnest,  what  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  he 
asked,  petulantly. 

"  I  say  that  if  there  is  someone  at  the  Hotel  de  Sair- 
meuse  named  Camille,  I  have  the  proof  I  desire.  Come, 
Papa  Absinthe,  let  us  hurry  on." 

And  without  another  word  of  explanation,  he 
dragged  his  companion  rapidly  along. 

When  they  reached  the  Rue  de  Crenelle,  Lecoq  saw 
a  messenger  leaning  against  the  door  of  a  wine-shop. 
Lecoq  called  him. 

"  Come,  my  boy,"  said  he ;  "  I  wish  you  to  go  to  the 


580         THE  HONOR   OF  THE   NAME 

Hotel  de  Sairmeuse  and  ask  for  Camille.  Tell  her 
that  her  uncle  is  waiting  her  here." 

«  But,  sir " 

"  What,  you  have  not  gone  yet  ?  " 

The  messenger  departed ;  the  two  policemen  entered 
the  wine-shop,  and  Father  Absinthe  had  scarcely  had 
time  to  swallow  a  glass  of  brandy  when  the  lad  re- 
turned. 

"  Monsieur,  I  was  unable  to  see  Mademoiselle  Ca- 
mille. The  house  is  closed  from  top  to  bottom.  The 
duchess  died  very  suddenly  this  morning." 

"  Ah !  the  wretch !  "  exclaimed  the  young  policeman. 

Then,  controlling  himself,  he  mentally  added: 

"  He  must  have  killed  his  wife  on  returning  home, 
but  his  fate  is  sealed.  Now,  I  shall  be  allowed  to  con- 
tinue my  investigations." 

In  less  than  twenty  minutes  they  arrived  at  the 
Palais  de  Justice. 

M.  Segmuller  did  not  seem  to  be  immoderately  sur- 
prised at  Lecoq's  revelations.  Still  he  listened  with 
evident  doubt  to  the  young  policeman's  ingenious  de- 
ductions ;  it  was  the  circumstance  of  the  starling  that 
seemed  to  decide  him. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  my  dear  Lecoq/'  he  said, 
at  last ;  "  and  to  tell  the  truth,  I  quite  agree  with  you. 
But  I  can  take  no  further  action  in  the  matter  until 
you  can  furnish  proof  so  convincing  in  its  nature  that 
the  Due  de  Sairmeuse  will  be  unable  to  think  of  deny- 
ing it." 

"  Ah !  sir,  my  superior  officers  wil!  not  allow 
me " 

"On  the  contrary,"  interrupted  the  judge,  "they 
will  allow  you  the  fullest  liberty  after  I  have  spoken  to 
them." 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    581 

Such  action  on  the  part  of  M.  Segmuller  required 
not  a  little  courage.  There  had  been  so  much  laughter 
about  M.  Segmuller's  grand  seigneur,  disguised  as  a 
clown,  that  many  men  would  have  sacrificed  their  con- 
victions to  the  fear  of  ridicule.  . 

"  And  when  will  you  speak  to  them  ?  "  inquired  Le- 
coq,  timidly. 

"  At  once." 

The  judge  had  already  turned  toward  the  door  when 
the  young  policeman  stopped  him. 

"  I  have  one  more  favor  to  ask,  Monsieur,"  he  said, 
entreatingly.  "  You  are  so  good ;  you  are  the  first 
person  who  gave  me  any  encouragement — who  had 
faith  in  me." 

"  Speak,  my  brave  fellow." 

"  Ah !  Monsieur,  will  you  not  give  me  a  message  for 
Monsieur  d'Escorval  ?  Any  insignificant  message — in- 
form him  of  the  prisoner's  escape.  I  will  be  the  bearer 
of  the  message,  and  then —  Oh !  fear  nothing,  Mon- 
sieur; I  will' be  prudent." 

"  Very  well !  "  replied  the  judge. 

When  he  left  the  office  of  his  chef,  Lecoq  was  fully 
authorized  to  proceed  with  his  investigations,  and  in  his 
pocket  was  a  note  for  M.  d'Escorval  from  M.  Seg- 
muller. His  joy  was  so  intense  that  he  did  not  deign 
to  notice  the  sneers  which  were  bestowed  upon  him 
as  he  passed  through  the  corridors.  On  the  threshold 
his  enemy  Gevrol,  the  so-called  general,  was  watching 
for  him. 

"  Ah,  ha !  "  he  laughed,  as  Lecoq  passed  out,  "  here 
is  one  of  those  simpletons  who  fish  for  whales  and  do 
not  catch  even  a  gudgeon." 

For  an  instant  Lecoq  was  angry.  He  turned  ab- 
ruptly and  looked  Gevrol  full  in  the  face. 


582        THE   HONOR    OF   THE   NAME 

"  That  is  better  than  assisting  prisoners  to  carry  on 
a  surreptitious  correspondence  with  people  outside,"  he 
retorted,  in  the  tone  of  a  man  who  knows  what  he  is 
saying. 

In  his  surprise,  Gevrol  almost  lost  countenance,  and 
his  blush  was  equivalent  to  a  confession. 

But  Lecoq  said  no  more.  What  did  it  matter  to  him 
now  if  Gevrol  had  betrayed  him!  Was  he  not  about 
to  win  a  glorious  revenge  ? 

He  spent  the  remainder  of  the  day  in  preparing  his 
plan  of  action,  and  in  thinking  what  he  should  say 
when  he  took  M.  Segmuller's  note  to  Maurice  d'Es- 
corval. 

The  next  morning  about  eleven  o'clock  he  presented 
himself  at  the  house  of  M.  d'Escorval. 

"  Monsieur  is  in  his  study  with  a  young  man,"  re- 
plied the  servant ;  "  but,  as  he  gave  me  no  orders  to  the 
contrary,  you  may  go  in." 

Lecoq  entered. 

The  study  was  unoccupied.  But  from  the  adjoining 
room,  separated  from  the  study  only  by  a  velvet  por- 
tiere, came  a  sound  of  stifled  exclamations,  and  of  sobs 
mingled  with  kisses. 

Not  knowing  whether  to  remain  or  retire,  the  young 
policeman  stood  for  a  moment  undecided ;  then  he  ob- 
served an  open  letter  lying  upon  the  carpet. 

Impelled  to  do  it  by  an  impulse  stronger  than  his 
own  will,  Lecoq  picked  up  the  letter.  It  read  as  fol- 
lows: 

"  The  bearer  of  this  letter  is  Marie- Anne's  son,  Mau- 
rice— your  son.  I  have  given  him  all  the  proofs  neces- 
sary to  establish  his  identity.  It  was  to  his  education 
that  I  consecrated  the  heritage  of  my  poor  Marie- Anne. 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    583 

Those  to  whose  care  I  confided  him  have  made  a  noble 
man  of  him.  If  I  restore  him  to  you,  it  is  only  because 
the  life  I  lead  is  not  a  fitting  life  for  him.  Yesterday, 
the  miserable  woman  who  murdered  my  sister  died 
from  poison  administered  by  her  own  hand.  Poor 
Marie- Anne !  she  would  have  been  far  more  terribly 
avenged  had  not  an  accident  which  happened  to  me, 
saved  the  Due  and  the  Duchesse  de  Sairmeuse  from 
the  snare  into  which  I  had  drawn  them. 

"  JEAN  LACHENEUR." 

Lecoq  stood  as  if  petrified. 

Now  he  understood  the  terrible  drama  which  had 
been  enacted  in  the  Widow  Chupin's  cabin. 

"  I  must  go  to  Sairmeuse  at  once,"  he  said  to  him- 
self ;  "  there  I  can  discover  all." 

He  departed  without  seeing  M.  d'Escorval.  He  re- 
sisted the  temptation  to  take  the  letter  with  him. 


It  was  exactly  one  month  to  a  day  after  the  death 
of  Mme.  Blanche. 

Reclining  upon  a  divan  in  his  library  the  Due  de 
Sairmeuse  was  engaged  in  reading,  when  Otto,  his 
valet  de  chambre,  came  to  inform  him  that  a  messenger 
was  below,  charged  with  delivering  into  the  duke's  own 
hands  a  letter  from  M.  Maurice  d'Escorval. 

With  a  bound,  Martial  was  on  his  feet. 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

Then  he  added,  quickly: 

"  Let  the  messenger  enter." 

A  large  man,  with  a  very  florid  complexion,  and  red 
hair  and  beard,  timidly  handed  the  duke  a  letter. 


584         THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME 
Martial  broke  the  seal,  and  read : 

"  I  saved  you,  Monsieur,  by  not  recognizing  trie  pris- 
oner, May.  In  your  turn,  aid  me !  By  noon,  day  after 
to-morrow,  I  must  have  two  hundred  and  sixty  thou- 
sand francs. 

"  I  have  sufficient  confidence  in  your  honor  to  apply 
to  you. 

"  MAURICE  D'ESCORVAL." 

For  a  moment  Martial  stood  bewildered,  then, 
springing  to  a  table,  he  began  writing,  without  notic- 
ing that  the  messenger  was  looking  over  his  shoulder : 

"  MONSIEUR — Not  day  after  to-morrow,  but  this 
evening.  My  fortune  and  my  life  are  at  your  disposal. 
It  is  but  a  slight  return  for  the  generosity  you  showed 
in  retiring,  when,  beneath  the  rags  of  May,  you  recog- 
nized your  former  enemy,  now  your  devoted  friend, 
"  MARTIAL  DE  SAIRMEUSE." 

He  folded  this  letter  with  a  feverish  hand,  and  giving 
it  to  the  messenger  with  a  louis,  he  said : 

"  Here  is  the  answer,  make  haste !  " 

But  the  messenger  did  not  go. 

He  slipped  the  letter  into  his  pocket,  then  with  a 
hasty  movement  he  cast  his  red  beard  and  wig  upon 
the  floor. 

"  Lecoq !  "  exclaimed  Martial,  paler  than  death. 

"  Lecoq,  yes,  Monsieur,"  replied  the  young  detective. 
"  I  was  obliged  to  take  my  revenge ;  my  future  de- 
pended upon  it,  and  I  ventured  to  imitate  Monsieur 
d'Escorval's  writing." 

And  as  Martial  made  no  response: 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  NAME    585 

"  I  must  also  say  to  Monsieur  le  Due,"  he  continued, 
"  that  on  transmitting  to  the  judge  the  confession 
written  by  the  Duke's  own  hand,  of  his  presence  at  the 
Poivriere,  I  can  and  shall,  at  the  same  time,  furnish 
proofs  of  his  entire  innocence." 

And  to  show  that  he  was  ignorant  of  nothing,  he 
added : 

"  As  madame  is  dead,  there  will  be  nothing  said  in 
regard  to  what  took  place  at  the  Borderie." 

A  week  later  a  verdict  of  not  guilty  was  rendered  by 
M.  Segmuller  in  the  case  of  the  Due  de  Sairmeuse. 

Appointed  to  the  position  he  coveted,  Lecoq  had  the 
good  taste,  or  perhaps  the  shrewdness,  to  wear  his 
honors  modestly. 

But  on  the  day  of  his  promotion,  he  ordered  a  seal, 
upon  which  was  engraved  the  exultant  rooster,  which 
he  had  chosen  as  his  armorial  design,  and  a  motto  to 
which  he  ever  remained  faithful :  Semper  Vigilant. 


I 


ii!lfli!i!!i||ii!ilii!  !iil|i|!!!  Hip 
ii  li|  i|  ill  »s  Piiiiirii  ill  i  I  PI  i  ill  hi!  I 

^^i^viii^'-^^^^i^iii'ili'^^iil'i     ||  iiiiiij  !!jj  I II II  |i|!|ii|  III 

liiiiiliiillil  1 

piiiiiiij!  jjjlj  :|!i||  ': 

l!!ll3l!iill!lliii';l! 


